


Purge

by arnediadglanduath, Darksilversilhouette



Series: Visions of Nirvana [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Character Study, Dissociative Amnesia, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, References to Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-07-29 17:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 210,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arnediadglanduath/pseuds/arnediadglanduath, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksilversilhouette/pseuds/Darksilversilhouette
Summary: What defines a hero? The greatness of their deeds or the story behind the journey that led them to such greatness? What drives a hero? The desire for honor and renown? Or the desire to protect those whom they love? And at the end of the day, who becomes the hero? The ones who stayed the straight and narrow...or the ones that had to lose everything to understand that heroes gain their titles from giving everything up...and receiving nothing at all?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This work is brought to you by me, and the amazing Arnediadglanduath. As with the last chapter of Burn, the POVs will be more or less sporadic.

_Everything happened in a blur._

_One moment, he was descending the steps alongside Sephiroth, the younger man suddenly picking up speed and Angeal followed him until they were out in the open._

_There was a gunshot._

_And then, there was Genesis…_

_The brilliant little kid he grew up with; always looking for trouble, always up for exploration and mischief. The same Genesis that smuggled the books and toys the Rhapsodos bought for him to their house, so they could read together, play together; tried to persuade Angeal to keep them, all the time, but to no avail. The same Genesis who’d come to their house one summer night with a backpack on, tried getting consent from his mother and father so they could go on an adventure together only for his parents to come and drag him away kicking and screaming to take him on some cruise the redhead didn’t want to go. Genesis who was equally as excited when Angeal showed him the recruitment posters. Genesis who stayed up with him all night when they had that ridiculous exam on Theories of Materia which was put aside from the curriculum right after they passed the course. He was the very same Genesis he had sixteen years worth of memories with._

_And Genesis was falling, eyes wide, and bloodied and battered and broken…_

_And Sephiroth was lunging forward, heedless of the guns that were pointed in his direction, heedless of the dark-haired First calling, begging after him…_

_And Angeal almost dropped to his knees, staggered forward only for a hand to reach out and grab his arm; vaguely he knew it was Zack, but right now he had one purpose, to get to his childhood friend’s side, so he swatted it away only for more hands to come grabbing at him._

_His eyes never left the scene in front of him as those pale fingers left crimson trails across Sephiroth’s face only to flop lifelessly to the unforgiving ground… and then Genesis smiled, and there were just so many things wrong about it on so many levels that the strangled noise that escaped him simply couldn’t be contained._

_And Angeal did drop to his knees then, because this couldn’t be happening… This shouldn’t be happening… Not like this… Not by the hands of a mad scientist who was cackling maniacally as the silver-haired man begged, in front of so many people… and those were the same words he wanted to utter but instead suffocated gasps of pain left his lips because Genesis was like a brother to him, an older brother that was in essence younger than him which he never had… which he’d always looked after… and if Angeal had gone to Wutai, if he had insisted, if he had refused the President’s direct order, this might have never happened…_

_It took approximately one minute from the moment Genesis died, for the guns to start firing. It took thirty seconds after that for the first bullet to hit Sephiroth’s left shoulder, and already the room had turned into a bloodbath. Some of the bodies fell to the ground in headless heaps, while the others were pushing against the gashes ranging from their necks to their torso and as low as their hips, but to no avail as blood gushed freely in vivid crimson sprays. And Angeal was already up and running, Buster Sword raised and swinging, heedless of the tranquilizer darts and the bullets that were scratching the heft of his blade as he made his way toward the silver-haired man who was now swinging his sword from where he was kneeling over Genesis’ lifeless body. The raven-haired First didn’t even notice the pain that ripped through his side, cutting down the very same soldiers who might have been his students, once._

_It took two minutes from when Genesis died, for Masamune to clatter to the ground, for Sephiroth’s head to loll sideways, before he, too, crumbled beside his lover, his body riddled with tranquilizer darts and bullets here and there. Judging by how his own movements had gotten sluggish, Angeal knew that he, too, was soon going to join them._

_To his far right, Zack was squirming against the throng of Seconds that had escorted them here._

_As he fell, Angeal was thinking about how he’d never used Buster Sword before, and how it was oddly fitting… His voice was a slurred thing as he tried to tell his protege to stand down, making a lax motion with his hand before gravity shifted…_

The raven-haired First jolted awake.

Cradling his haggard face in his hands, Angeal tried to chase those images away but to no avail.

It’d been a month since Genesis’ death.

To add insult to injury-or maybe it was the other way around in their case-Shinra confiscated his childhood friend’s body. There was no funeral. They didn’t even make a public announcement, and that was the cherry on top. No emails were sent to the personnel either.

Sephiroth, too, had disappeared after that day. Angeal had walked all the way to Hojo’s lair. And it had been odd and awkward; because the raven-haired man had kept looking over his shoulder for a worried redhead who’d come here with him last time to search for the very same green-eyed First. In the end, he had a mental breakdown before he’d even reached those double doors that opened with keycard access, and promptly decided to leave because he simply couldn’t face the murderer who was given free reign despite all the heinous actions he’d committed.

He’d tried the younger man’s apartments, both the old and the new one; but no one had answered.

The blue-eyed First hadn’t stood around to let them add to the list of how they’d wanted to tarnish and disparage his deceased friend.

It seemed so wrong to put Genesis and dead together in one sentence even now, so far away from the place he’d last seen him. He was on a chopper from Banora to Junon. Based on the information Turks had provided him, Hollander had been sighted in the harbor.

After his childhood friend had deserted, the scientist had seemed rather nervous. The Commander had heard him talk about leaving Shinra here and there before, but he’d always assumed that the man had been joking. There must have been a reason the professor had disappeared right after his best friend’s defection. Angeal didn’t know if the redhead had contacted him and asked him to leave, maybe for Hollander to continue treating him; because as far as the raven-haired man knew, the wound hadn’t healed and the scientist was the one still trying to remedy it before everything went to shit.

The blue-eyed First was sure there were things the professor knew that could at least help him understand what had happened to his childhood friend for him to leave everything behind like that, for him to almost kill himself that day in his bathroom. And if a certain silver-haired man had been around, Angeal would have definitely gone to him first, but he seemed to be out of luck these days.

Finding Genesis’ men hadn’t been too hard. It certainly took them long enough, but from what he knew of the former First Class, a reconnaissance mission in the Mideel area was enough for the sable-haired soldier to find the massive encampment. It had been hard to deliver the news of their leader’s death to the men, harder still to persuade them to return to Shinra, but Angeal had promised them, on his honor that he wasn’t going to let the blood that had been spilt go to waste. He had sworn an oath to make things right, had told them that he needed their help if they were going to bring about a change in the way things were done; because right now, those men were all the Commander had.

A ding brought him out of his reverie. Flipping his phone open, a message greeted him.

_Time: 0653 Sender: Zack_

_Got promoted to 1st… Alwys thought itd feel bttr, uno?_

Angeal didn’t know what to tell him.

The boy had definitely given it his all, especially in the Fort Tamblin mission about a week ago. The Commander hadn’t been there-neither had Sephiroth from what he’d heard-but he’d read his protege’s report and he’d also asked from the squadron assigned with the Second. And when Lazard had prompted for his A-okay, he’d given his recommendation. Though to say that it’d been an easy decision to make, considering the circumstances, would be a lie. It was hard to be a part of the whole ‘substitute Commander Rhapsodos quickly and efficiently’ process, but for what Angeal had in mind, he needed all the help he could get, and that meant having Zack up there with him as a First.

_New message To:_

And the first person on his recommended drop down menu made him take a good two minutes to compose a message that otherwise would have taken thirty seconds maximum: _Genesis._

_New message To: Zack_

_Don’t let the circumstances ruin it for you. You’re a step closer to your dream, huh? Celebrate it while you can, we have a rough ride ahead of us._

Flipping his phone closed, Angeal looked out the window to the vast ocean that expanded below, hoping against hope that Sephiroth would be marginally alright.

A pessimistic voice inside him told him that it was a fool’s hope. Or was it realistic, the Commander didn’t know.

* * *

_A field._

_Sephiroth was in a field...or a meadow...he didn’t think the definitive details particularly mattered. Grass was spread as far as the eye could see...greener than emeralds...like the depths of a dappled forest flung forth and brought down to the earth in thin, swaying fronds. The sky above was dark; lit up with thousands of stars, glittering like cold, distant diamonds in their astral sanctuaries. They sparkled bitterly...almost resentfully in the navy-blue velvet expanse of the cosmos...as if resentful of his presence beneath them. The moon was high and bright; like an exorbitantly large, faceless coin...lunar rays spilling onto blades of grass and edging them in platinum luminescence. The air was warm...though it was hard to tell; his entire body felt incorporeal, as if he wasn’t there at all...as if he were a phantom encroaching upon a world entirely unknown to him._

_Ahead of him was a tree._

_There were no others save for it; and its presence was like a bolt of lightning thrown down in the blackness of a storm. Leafless; it stretched perhaps eighty feet high...like a noir stain against the dappled crystalline sky. Bare branches grasped like gnarled limbs; upward, outward...shivering in a breeze that seemed to come from everywhere at once...rushing inward and upward and away…‘till it was impossible to discern its true source. Its presence seemed somehow...off...somehow discordant with the scenery around him. Because while the tree was obviously dead, everything around it was clearly very alive. Achingly, Sephiroth was reminded of his own strangeness...of the pervasive emptiness that had haunted his soul for as long as he could remember._

_Moving took a great amount of effort._

_It was much like trying to walk under several feet of water; the crush of gravity was nearly suffocating in its intensity...inexorable in its pervasive weight. It took him ten minutes to traverse a space of perhaps ten feet, and the tree was only marginally nearer. From this distance, it was like a lone scarecrow in a low-cut field with nothing to defend. Empty...bereft...synonymous. Its solitary presence was so adhesive with his own it made him want to run in the opposite direction, but he was drawn inexorably forward. And Sephiroth was not the type of person to make symbolistic comparisons between himself and stationary objects but something about this was...different...his thought process was different...freer, more open._

_Ten steps, twenty, thirty, two-hundred…_

_There was a figure beneath the tree. Swathed in red leather, with a shock of scarlet hair and a rubicund sword at its waist. The silver-haired man’s chest tightened as he approached...as he drew level and turned his head to the side. The branches above them creaked in the sourceless breeze like so many bones, as if whispering a necrotic, somnolent graveyard tune to the star-strewn sky. Genesis was...whole. He was more than whole; this Genesis was the Genesis he remembered from before their relationship began. Fiery locks, glittering sapphire eyes and pearlescent skin…like ivory damask. The earring dangling from his ear glittered against the ingress of a beam of starlight, highlighting the graceful slope of his throat, the contour of his jaw._

_Sephiroth felt hollow._

_It was a feeling much akin to the sensation of sitting on the examination table in Hojo’s laboratory. Every facet of his physicality was super sensitive...but the components of his psyche were vacant, responseless and listless. He felt like a creature unmoored, set adrift in a sea of lassitude...clutching waves of cognizance only to have them slip from his fingers like formless ghosts. The silver-haired soldier could sense every element of his visceral existence...but the emotionalism that came with it was absent; swallowed in the depths of nothingness like a rock falling into soundless, fathomless depths...descending for eternity. It was an alien feeling. If he thought about it hard, it was somewhat frightening, because he didn’t know when he’d find that mental ground again._

_Genesis didn’t look at him._

_Really, it didn’t seem like the redhead knew he was there. Again, Sephiroth was accosted with the feeling of being corporeal, of being nonexistent. He could see the light from the stars reflecting off his skin, and the sensation of the wind fluttering through his hair...but it didn’t feel like he was truly_ **_there._ ** _And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was death...and maybe this was where Genesis had chosen to go but didn’t want him there. The idea hurt him more than he thought it would...because the idea of spending the rest of eternity alone was terrifying. Even in his numb, semi-emotionless state, there was still a part of him that wanted to be close to his former lover. At the same time, he accepted that such a decision wouldn’t be strange, nor would it be cruel. The scarlet-haired individual next to him likely would only wish for peace...and Sephiroth had certainly never given him peace._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_It took-if possible-even more effort to speak than it did to walk. His voice felt like it was stuck in his stomach, and when he tried to move his vocal cords to elucidate what he was saying...it required every iota of his concentration. For a moment, Sephiroth was frustrated, because if there was ever a time he might get a chance to talk to the man next to him, it was now. And even if this wasn’t real, it was still an opportunity. An undeserved opportunity, but an opportunity nevertheless. Stronger than his desire to speak was his desire to touch. This he knew he couldn’t act on; because he didn’t deserve to touch Genesis, didn’t deserve to run his fingers through that fiery hair and bury himself in that strong yet somehow giving and comforting chest. He had betrayed that privilege, dashed it to pieces. And it might hurt to admit it, but it didn’t make it any less true._

_The tree trembled, groaned, and Sephiroth ripped his gaze away from his fellow First to watch as a branch fell to the ground with a sickening crash. For some reason, the descent of the limb felt like a personal affront; as if someone had ripped off his arm and dashed it to the ground only to leave it there...broken and bleeding. Glancing downwards proved otherwise; his limbs were still intact, but the sensation of loss was still very real. A velvety chuckle reached his ears, and the silver-haired soldier whipped his head to the side. Genesis still wasn't looking at him, but his head was now tilted upwards as his own had been. It was hard to discern the emotions on his face...mostly because he was too busy drinking every facet of his features in...but if Sephiroth could venture a guess, his best estimation would have been disdain coupled with a kind of bitter melancholy. Crimson brows pulled together as coral lips tugged themselves into a wan smile._

_“You motherfucker.”_

_He didn't take it personally. Partly because he deserved it and partly because Genesis seemed to be speaking to the tree and not him. Though he was starting to get the feeling that the tree was some sort of metaphysical extension of him. The younger man startled as his companion shifted, and suddenly those ocean-blue irises were on him. Sephiroth was abruptly weak-kneed, and an ache had begun in his chest that was so painful he wanted to reach into it and rip his heart out. Because the expression on the redhead's face was tortured, grieving, and tender all at once. That graceful neck arched backward, lips curled back from teeth as they spread into an expression that was half-joy and half terrible pain. The edges of familiar eyes crinkled somewhat as he tilted his head. A red leather-clad hand rose; fingers curling just before his face as if grasping for something that wasn't there._

_“You motherfucker.”_

_And, again, he let it go. Because Genesis grasped his hand and pulled him forward. And despite the fact that it seemed to take him ten times longer than it usually did, the redhead didn't complain. Instead, he returned his gaze to the 'fore...tugging him without comment. Up close, the tree was truly massive; a dead, washed out husk of a thing. Those slender fingers yanked at his own, pressed them against the trunk, which groaned again before all the branches began to shudder around them...and then they fell. The area where his hand was splayed crumbled into so much dust, and the rest of the massive trunk followed suit...until they stood among a mottled, rotten-smelling heap of wood that seemed to be disintegrating before their very eyes._

_“You motherfucker,” Genesis repeated, and this time, his voice was thick with grief. When he turned his gaze towards Sephiroth again, his eyes were filled with tears. “I_ **_loved_ ** _you.”_

* * *

Angeal was drowning in an ocean of agony. Standing so high up on the mako cannon of the Sister Ray seemed to make no difference at all; he could as well have been a hundred feet under the turbulent surface of the deep expanding below him.

Hollander’s words had hit him like a Dual Horn. A pained gasp escaped him, because that was what Genesis used to say… The redhead had said it so many times that Angeal couldn’t help but pick up on the phrase, continued using it even when its originator had dropped it.

The raven-haired First couldn’t fathom what his best friend must have gone through before…

The former Commander had been degrading, his body turning against him and he hadn’t even uttered a word. A part of him was angry at the redhead because how could he keep all this information from him, especially when it concerned his mother, Gillian? How could he have been so selfish…

_No._

The scarlet-haired man knew him just as well as Angeal knew Genesis. His childhood friend knew the news would leave him wrecked… as it did now. Probably a hundred times more because he was still grieving, still disbelieving.

How did they end up like this?

Again… like that day, the Banoran dropped to his knees; because the burden of this knowledge was too staggering… to know that his _mother_ had been part of some gruesome experiment devised to create the perfect SOLDIER, was tearing through his psyche like a Dark Nation on a rampage. The very same mother who had taught him about honor and dreams along with his _father_ … the same father who had worked so hard he’d fallen ill just to make enough money to get Buster Sword for Angeal… the father that probably wasn’t his biological sire, but had never made him feel like anything was amiss… cared for him like the dark-haired First was his true son… and Gillian… the very same woman who had refused Shinra’s hush money and decided to live through the products of their own labor than to continue being a pawn… But still…

_Why?_

All this time… he had been fighting for a company who would stop at nothing, who knew no bounds in their avarice for power. Angeal had had no illusions about war when they’d joined SOLDIER. He’d known his hands were going to be dyed with so much blood… But he’d believed that it was for a greater good at the time. Besides, it wasn’t out of a desire for bloodshed that he’d joined. He’d wanted to learn how to protect the ones he loved, to become a worthy warrior that could help the others do the same. He had wanted none of the limelight that came with it, none of the money… because if he had wanted for money, wanted for the material, his mother wouldn’t have been living in the same fashion she had since Angeal had left their _hometown_.

The raven-haired First had come to realize early on that his notions about the Wutai war, what he’d told himself to justify it, had been nothing but falsities, especially as the years wore on. But he’d stayed true to his own beliefs...even if they clashed with the dogma...because there was also the slim hope that if there was no changing Shinra from without, maybe he could do it from within… that’s why he’d stayed… he’d persevered... There was also the fact that there was no going back… there was no way they could wash away the blood that was on their hands even though he’d thought about it on the many sleepless nights he’d had. And again, there was no escaping Shinra even if he deserted, just like his late friend. The friend he’d sworn to stay with until the very end… sworn that to reach the top with, together… sworn to protect no matter what…

Angeal scoffed at himself, grimacing. Because he had failed to keep his promise. He’d failed utterly and miserably.

Truth.

It must have been what had spurred Genesis to defect. The knowledge that he’d been dying had probably been the reason the sable-haired soldier had found the redhead like that in the bathroom of his living quarters. The blue-eyed First had known that his childhood friend had always been rebellious, always wanted for more freedom. The redhead too must have known that there was no respite for those who decided to turn against Shinra; that either he’d have to live like a fugitive, always on the run and living in the shadows, or stand and fight. Knowing the older man, it was glaringly obvious he’d choose the latter. But that choice, that decision had cost him his life… and maybe, just maybe, he was free now, finally at peace…

While it had taken the form of a bullet for his friend, truth served as a blade for him; cutting through the veils that had been covering his eyes for far too long. Angeal could see it all now. And the promise he had given Genesis’ men served as a purpose to drive him forward, his will in bringing about a change from within the company solidified tenfold.

Because there was no denying that Shinra was corrupt. It was a certainty. He’d come to know that when they put a bullet inside the very man who’d brought them so many victories. He’d come to know that when they brought their finest, the General of their army to their knees in front of so many subordinates, reduced him, his authority, to the barest minimum, to nothingness… He just hadn’t known how deep their dishonorable, vile ways ran.

His hands balled into fists.

Things couldn’t stay the way they were. Removing the company and its supremacy from the planet wasn’t feasible. Because it would just throw the whole world into a state of chaos and mayhem. He needed to talk to Sephiroth about this. Angeal was but one person, and the younger man knew Shinra’s ways more than he did; had lived with them since the day he’d been born. And if there was one person who could bring the President to his knees, it was the silver-haired soldier. They just needed to crop Hojo out of the picture.

Standing up from where he had fallen took far more strength and willpower than was necessary, exerted him enough that the urge to collapse yet again was almost too hard to overcome. It felt like the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders, making him want to stagger, to take out Buster Sword and lean on it, but he stood tall. He would not falter.

As much as it all had seemed overwhelming-and maybe it was-as much as it had seemed like it would’ve been enough to overthrow his foundations, it hadn’t.

Although his origins were questionable; although he’d been born and bred to be an unfeeling unthinking killing machine, Angeal was his own person. The knowledge that he’d been an experiment-that he still was, but probably one gone awry-wasn’t going to change the fact that he would still go to the slums on his weekends to teach people how to defend themselves. It wasn’t going to change the fact that he would spend most of his stipend on the lower plate renovations, as slow as it had been progressing, but making headway nonetheless. He was still the very same person who’d told Zack to follow his dreams and honor; who would still continue telling him that, however, to pursue them in things not tainted by Shinra. His belief in SOLDIER hadn’t been affected by this revelation. It had only served to make it unshakable; to make him more determined to open their eyes, to help them see and choose the right side.

He was still the same guy, the same Angeal. Genesis had been his friend, murdered because he’d wanted to be free. Sephiroth was still his friend. Gillian was still his mother, despite all the things she might have done in the past…

That was just how much he loved her.

So, instead of going back to Banora, he was going to head to Nibelheim.

Hollander had dropped the name as he’d confessed; his tongue tripping over his words as he’d sweated profusely, constantly begging for his life in between sentences. Once the scientist had told him everything, despite the impotent rage that had been suffusing him back then, Angeal had wanted to send him to Modeoheim, where the rest of Genesis’ men were still stationed, hopefully unbeknownst to Shinra. But he couldn’t have done that without the Turks knowing. After setting foot in Junon, he’d been tailed by them, constantly. So, he’d just let them detain the professor, told them he’d need to go to Nibleheim because there was a possibility that a portion of the former Commander’s army might be there.

Honestly, Angeal just wanted to go and meet Jenova in person.

The extraterrestrial entity that seemed to be as much a part of them as their own humanity.

* * *

Sephiroth woke.

Except it wasn't anything like waking up normally. Instead, the General felt like he was tugged from sleep while someone beat him over the head with a shovel. The silver-haired man gasped and shot upwards, one hand grasping at his chest as vertigo hit him like a ton of bricks. Immediately, he recognized that he was weak, though why he didn't exactly know. Staring straight ahead, the green-eyed First acknowledged that this was his apartment, his _old_ apartment. ... Except that everything was the way it had been what felt like months ago...when he'd returned from Banora. The floor was devoid of blood, spotless, as he'd always preferred it. His sheets were-by all appearances, equally clean. The rucksack he'd taken to Mideel was slung over a chair, semi-unpacked and still a little bit dusty.

Pressing his palms to his eyes, Sephiroth tried to rationalize with himself. Because this didn't make any sense. Genesis was dead. _He_ himself should have been dead because he'd drawn Masamune and gone straight for the President. He remembered the hail of bullets hitting his skin, the number of men he'd killed...the body lying on the floor under him. Shinra wouldn't have moved him back here regardless. It would-essentially-be suicide; because there was nothing stopping him from ascending a floor to separate the President's head from his shoulders. Glancing to his right, he frowned as Masamune winked innocently at him from its wall-mounted perch.

Someone moved in the bed next to him.

Sephiroth froze and eyed his weapon a tad more enthusiastically. Because _nothing_ in this scenario made sense. Turning around would offer him no answers because he had no memory to back them up with. He didn't particularly _care_ who was in bed with him save for the fact that every facet of the current situation was bizarre. Green eyes strayed to the foot of the opposite side of the bed and beyond; to the right side of the door that led to the hallway. A rucksack was lying there too. A strangely familiar rucksack...a rucksack next to a flame-colored sword. Bundled next to that was a red-leather coat atop dark boots.

The General's brain was suddenly non-functional; because this was impossible. But then the bed dipped...there was the sensation of inexorable warmth at his back...the scent of musk and ridiculously expensive shampoo and cigarettes. The silver-haired man's breath hitched as a long-fingered hand snaked forward to slide over his abdomen and up...over his chest to cover his heart. The other rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently before crimson waves of hair replaced it; a forehead nudging his shoulder blades. The silver-haired soldier remained frozen...because that was all he could do. Warm lips closed over his pulse-point, the hand on his chest rubbing perfunctorily before retreating. There was a moment of stillness, and then a masculine, velvety voice cut through the silence.

“... Seph?”

It took every iota, every bit, each and every facet of his mental faculties and physical prowess to stay there on bed, motionless and disbelieving, instead of falling over the edge, or running out of the apartment screaming. And it wasn’t important at all that he was naked or people would think he was crazy; because right now Sephiroth was sure he was losing his mind.

It took those very same things not to deflate, not to crumble like the tree in his dreams.

Genesis flashed before his irises, azure eyes filled with tears and as the corners of the image started burning, catching fire, like a piece of parchment folding in on itself, he could see blood oozing from the seam of those perfect sanguine lips. The General gasped, a pained noise getting strangled in his chest.

And the silver-haired man didn’t need his eyes to know that very same face would greet him if he turned his head. He didn’t need his eyes to know worry was etched into the frown settling over those fine auburn brows. It didn’t take a genius to know that those elegant fingers would encircle his torso, and they did just that, drawing his back and a lean chest together somewhere in between.

Those luxurious lips settled against his neck, leaving soothing feather-light kisses, parting slowly for a hint of a warm tongue before closing against his skin once more that seemed to be burning, that seemed so ready to catch fire wherever the other touched him. How much he had missed it, this, them… but he really didn’t have the right. He didn’t have the right to miss, he didn’t have the right to receive these kisses and touches. He lost that privilege when he…

But those backpacks…

Dexterous fingers tangled in his hair when Sephiroth tensed, tugging gently, carding and brushing through silvery locks, and the younger man knew he couldn’t avoid those cerulean irises that had been gazing at him for what seemed like an eternity no more. Tentatively, he turned his head, the movement so slow that it wasn’t at all dissimilar to his dream but Genesis was patient with him, always… and when he looked up through fringes of platinum lashes Sephiroth’s breath caught in his chest… because this... was the Genesis he knew.

“It was just a nightmare.” The older man whispered, closing his eyes as he pressed the sides of their faces together, drawing him into that warm welcoming embrace even further than what was physically possible.

_A nightmare._

The idea of it was so attractive. Because it seemed like exactly the sort of thing the silver-haired man’s mind would conjure up. A horrid, drawn-out phantasm of pain and destruction wrought out of despair. Because Sephiroth was-admittedly-desperately afraid of loss...of the loss of friends, of his honor and his stature. Something niggling in the back of his mind insisted that something was off...but the physical proof was here in front of him. The General was skeptical by nature, but there was nothing like the truth in plain sight. And Genesis was _here,_ pressed against him...his body achingly familiar in its perfection. The scent of him was the same...the steady, soothing beat of his heart against his back was synonymous with the man he remembered and the man that was currently trying to pull him out of the pall of horror that surrounded him. Those blazing hot lips closed over his neck once again and the groan that escaped his mouth was half-pleasure and half agonizing pain.

Because it had been _so long_ since he’d been touched like this. In the weeks- _the dream weeks-_ leading up to his heinous deed, he’d ached to be touched. His time with Genesis in Mideel, and then Banora had caused him to become accustomed to affection...to physical closeness. During their falling out over Hojo, he’d struggled to fall asleep alone, to wake up without holding the older man close as the sun spilt over the coverlets. Dextrous fingers slid down his sides to fan out over his hips, pulling him closer still and Sephiroth felt his eyes grow heavy-lidded with desire. Because _this…_ he wanted this...wanted it more than he wanted air to breathe. The redhead was murmuring something tender and affectionate into his ear and he felt his breath hitch voluntarily as he arched into the touch; naturally...easily. It had always been easy to give to Genesis...easier than it had ever been with anyone else. But still….

“You’re dead.” He muttered, stiffening and pulling back. “I-I hurt you, you’re not real. _This_ is a dream.”

Everything was still and quiet for a minute before the mattress shuddered as _Genesis_ flopped onto it behind him. There was a rush of breath, and despite the urge to look over his shoulder and see the older man stretching behind him, Sephiroth stared straight ahead, silver brows drawn together as he tried desperately to make sense out of this situation that was taking a turn for nightmarish by the second.

A sigh made his resolve crack, and the silver-haired First caught himself peeking through a curtain of platinum strands over his shoulder at his companion.

“They said this would happen.” There was a hint of anger in that voice, barely repressed. “It’s all Hojo’s fault, don’t you remember?” Now, the redhead was sitting up, blue eyes looking back at him with worry. “You were barely conscious when you came out… I don’t know what he gave you…” Genesis looked away, pale fingers carding through fiery tresses as he continued in a low voice. “I don’t know what he did to you, but you… you...”

It seemed like his fellow First was going to continue, but the silence yawned between them, tense and unwanted before being broken by a rustle of sheets and a barely audible whisper of ‘I’m going to kill him.’

And that was _exactly_ something that Genesis would say.

Painfully, Sephiroth realized that they were back to the point when he’d come up from the labs...possibly as a result of their vacation lasting so long. He knew if he pushed the issue, the redhead would get angry. And really...he didn’t particularly care if Hojo died anymore. What was there to lose? A mad scientist who would gladly kill the man lying in bed next to him? That wasn’t worth getting upset over. Turning slightly, the green-eyed First observed the individual currently staring mulishly at the ceiling. It was...disturbing. His entire presence in the room was disturbing, _the room_ was disturbing. Because everything in his mind in consideration of the past few weeks was so virulently different. And while his heart was eager to let everything go and simply accept it, the logical portion of his brain was kicking and screaming. He wanted to believe...because it was easier to believe. But did that make it right? Reaching out, the younger man took warm, familiar, slender fingers in his own...turned them over and over in his hands. These, too, were synonymous with Genesis...with everything that he was; large but graceful, pale yet somehow inexorably strong. He knew those hands, hands that had touched him...cupped his face and whispered love...brought him to the dizzying heights of pleasure only to bring him back down. Palms that were careful and at the same time passionate, artistic and deadly…

...Palms that were free of calluses.

Frowning, the silver-haired soldier acknowledged that the Genesis in his memory had heavily calloused hands. It came from gripping a sword so often. And while they’d been away from HQ for a significant amount of time, it wasn’t enough for the older man to be completely free of them. Sapphire eyes flickered somewhat at his touch, those cerise lips curled into a small smile and his unease fled. Because the Commander looked at him like he was the most precious of gemstones wrought before him, like everything about him was beautiful, unmarred and perfect. And when Sephiroth leaned down to capture his mouth he reciprocated with fervor, one hand rising to card through silver locks as the General sank into the coverlets to drown in the musk of his essence. A tense, panicked part of him retreated...grew lazy and somnolent even as the body next to him shifted to press close once more...until he was reeling with the headiness of it.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Pulling back, the green-eyed First waited impatiently for whomever it was to go away; because this was far more important. Scarlet brows arched in question and he huffed impatiently as the irritating noise continued. And couldn’t this _wait?_ He’d just gotten Genesis back, after an extended time of thinking he was dead. Surely there was nothing in the outside world more vital than this. This vein of thought got him absolutely nowhere, because his ill-minded visitor was apparently extremely persistent.

“I’ll be right back.” He muttered, placing a hasty kiss on parted lips before getting out of bed to pull on a pair of sweatpants.

Vaguely, he was aware of the fact that his companion had risen with him, but he ignored it in favor of pulling a shirt over his head. This done, he stepped out into the hallway and nearly had a panic attack. Because _everything_ was exactly how he’d remembered it. His furniture was there, along with his coat and gloves slung over an armchair. Pictures that had been previously dusty and neglected hung on the walls, and the carpets were just as spotless as they’d been in the bedroom. Crossing the immaculate living space, Sephiroth attempted to pull himself together. Firmly, he reminded himself that the ‘memories’ he possessed were not memories, merely vivid dreams borne from his subconscious. The knocking was repeated as he reached the entryway, and the silver-haired soldier considered just ignoring it, but he doubted it would do him any good. Punching in the manual access code, the General watched as the door swung open and he came face to face with Zack.

The Cadet in question gaped at him for a minute, as if he hadn’t exactly expected him to answer at all. Or, perhaps, that he was _hoping_ he wouldn’t. Folding his arms, Shinra’s finest raised an expectant brow.

“...Can I help you?” Zack ogled him for a few more seconds before apparently realizing what he was doing. Closing his mouth, the dark-haired soldier popped off a salute. “At ease.”

“ _Sir._ ” He said hastily. “Angeal asked me to check on you periodically. I’ve been up a few times before but you didn’t answer-” Genesis’ childhood friend’s charge fell silent again, and the look on his face was that of pure incredulity. Sephiroth acknowledged, with some consternation, that Genesis had joined them. Fair’s disbelief was quickly morphing into that of barely-contained hysteria. “ _What’s going on?!_ ”

The redhead pulled up against him from behind, looping an arm around his waist, a proud chin digging gently into his shoulder as a melodious voice spoke. “What’s going on Zack, is that you’re going to leave us in peace, thank you very much.”

The look on Zack’s face was like he’d just seen a ghost; like he hadn’t expected the redhead currently nuzzling his neck to be able to speak. The arm holding him rather possessively let go for a moment to push the spikey-haired First… _First?_ Why was Angeal’s charge wearing a First Class uniform?

As he was busy concentrating on that, Genesis’ childhood friend’s protege went with the movement, staggering backwards with his jaw almost dropping to the floor.

“Bye.” The Commander muttered cheerfully before closing the door.

A mischievous smirk was playing on his companion’s lips as Sephiroth turned around to look incredulously at him; those cerulean irises glinting with the promises of things that made him go weak in the knees with. Something in his gut was still telling him that things were off, but his mind was refusing to go along with it. Not when that mouth was curling in a way that was oh so familiar, and not when those sapphire eyes were crinkled at the edges...inviting and warm. Putting his hands on naked hips, the silver-haired man exhaled shakily, his brows furrowing as he rested his head at the cleft where shoulder met neck. He closed his eyes as long fingers came up to card through his hair. He swayed slightly...captured within the moment, his mind a mess of memories both good and bad as Genesis crooned something unintelligible.

The sound of swiftly retreating footsteps registered in the back of the General’s mind, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the desirous nearness of the individual before him. Drawing back, he gazed hungrily into deep blue eyes, drinking in their depths as if it would be the last time he was privy to such an opportunity. The scarlet-haired soldier was uncharacteristically patient; allowing him to observe all he wanted before apparently deciding to take the initiative. The kiss he was drawn into he felt all the way down to his toes. Deep, open-mouthed and _hot;_ Sephiroth breathed inward sharply through his nose, chasing the wicked tongue that teased his bottom lip and shuddering as it was captured and sucked. Genesis tilted his head to better fit them together and the room seemed to spin. When they came up for air again, the younger man pressed their foreheads together as he caught his breath.

“That poem.” He murmured. “The one you said to me in Banora...could you recite it again?”

There was a low chuckle as the Commander nuzzled his face, soft fingertips trailing his sides as heated lips found his neck again, and Sephiroth’ hold on the older man’s hips tightened minutely. “ _Genesis?_ ”

When his fellow First just ‘hmm?’ed and kept at his ministrations, Sephiroth’s mind was yelling at him to push the redhead away, but the memory of the hurt swirling in ocean-blue irises held back his hands, slammed a wall on the synapses firing from his brain because as much as it might have been a nightmare, a dream, whatever Genesis wanted to call it, the silver-haired soldier didn’t see it in himself to be able to survive yet another separation from the man in his arms.

Probably sensing how he’d tensed, his companion had stopped whatever he’d been doing and was currently holding him in a tight embrace that was just too painful. Not physically, no. Because he had almost forgotten how perfectly the map of their bodies meshed together, like two pieces of a puzzle, returning an egress for an ingress, all sharp planes and lithe powerful angles. And it felt like having a limb torn from him when the scarlet-haired man pulled away, melancholy veiling gorgeous features as those eyes gazed at the floor.

“I…” The blue-eyed soldier paused, his lower lip trembling with barely held back words. And the amount of time it took for the redhead to speak up again was an eternity of agonizing intermission. Time and time again, Sephiroth wanted to open his mouth, to speak that very word he had spat in that spar at the pale face that was currently in front of him; to ask him this time what the ‘Ashayam’ Genesis uttered so reverently meant before it was too late again, before he lost that right again…

“I can’t...”

He rationalized it.

Distantly, he was aware that everything about the situation was slowly becoming more and more suspicious, but his heart was unwilling to relinquish hope. The scarlet-haired First was more than likely shaken by whatever Hojo had done to him, forcing him to step back and think about things objectively. Besides, it was ridiculously selfish to ask for poetry in a moment like this...when he’d been unconscious for who knows how long and the older man very obviously just wanted to be close to him. Sighing, Sephiroth let his head fall onto a well-worked shoulder, inhaling hungrily before placing a kiss on the jut of a collarbone. Minutely, he felt Genesis relax...as if he’d been anticipating something terrible. And why wouldn’t he? From what he could remember, he’d been tense and irritable upon their return. He was-effectively-angry with himself for being so insensitive, because the older man had discovered some terrible things about his past...about his parents, and he was here demanding sonnets like he had all the right in the world to dictate what could pass from his fellow First’s lips.

“It’s alright.” He murmured against pale skin. “You don’t have to.”

Genesis relaxed further and there were a few moments of nothing but blissful reunion; of lips and tongue and touch as the slow glow of desire became an all-consuming flame. That lithe body arched into him, undulated suggestively and Sephiroth barely held back the groan that threatened to spill from his mouth, crushing the redhead to him in a manner that might have been just on the side of too-rough if they weren’t so desperately aroused.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” He said raggedly. “I forgot the rule.”

Again, the body against him froze, as if thinking rapidly...and this time he couldn’t ignore it. Pulling away, he gazed into suddenly panicked sapphire eyes...eyes that looked like they were trying to recall something they didn’t possess. Frowning, the General felt himself go still...his mind drifting to the uncalloused hands he had clasped…hands that were usually combat-worn...never soft. He glanced at his wrist...which was devoid of the bracelet bestowed on him, which made sense, since their ‘date’ had happened far past this point but… Beryl irises landed on lips that couldn’t dictate the poem he’d so desperately requested…the crimson, wreathed head that couldn’t remember ‘the rule.’

“You’re not Genesis.” He whispered, horror encompassing him as he wrenched himself away.

If it was possible, cerulean eyes widened even further, and it wasn’t just panic inside them. They were reflecting the very same horror that was freezing in his veins.

This person that wasn’t Genesis but looked exactly like him doubled over, staggering backwards as long pale fingers tangled in short auburn tresses, pulling on them. “No… No… Not again…”

He wasn’t sure what was more painful; the fact that this was clearly _not_ his dead lover, or the fact that the individual before him was acting as if this had happened before. Vaguely, fuzzy memories began to resurface; numerous recollections of the same scenario in different places around the apartment. ‘Genesis’’ eyes widening in horror as he uncovered the falsity of his identity, perched on his desk in his office. ‘Genesis’ pleading with him in the kitchen, ‘Genesis’ begging him to listen to reason as they lay in bed, hands reaching out to supplicate as Sephiroth lay there, paralyzed with fear. More prominent than that were the memories of faceless individuals running into the room whenever he lunged forward, determined to erase the flawless mockery before him; of his hands wrapping around that graceful throat only to have them pried away...of being restrained as the cold ice of an injection flooded his veins.

This was a nightmare brought to life, and it was unforgivable.

Because all evidence pointed to the fact that Shinra was trying to exact from him some sort of emotional neutrality. Via manipulation or trauma, he wasn’t sure. Hojo had to have been behind it, that much he was certain of, because no one else in HQ was so devastatingly cruel...so cunning. Sephiroth was positive that even the President wasn’t so blatantly heartless, because it felt like he’d begun to repair himself only to shatter all over again. The glorious, heart-stopping concept of his beloved returning to him was an illusion. A masterfully orchestrated illusion, but an illusion nevertheless.

He needed to end this.

The silver-haired soldier took one step forward, two, and the replica shrunk back, curled into himself. The face he knew so well was a mask of pain, but also...hope? Frowning, Sephiroth paused...closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Running the scenario over in his mind he acknowledged that the stranger before him was likely just as much of a pawn as he was. And while he might _want_ to kill him...he couldn’t…and not just because he was innocent. Sephiroth would never again put his hands on Genesis...real Genesis or no…. with the intent to punish or harm. He couldn’t do that...was fairly sure it would destroy him twice-over _to_ do that. Shaking with suppressed grief and rage, the green-eyed First balled his hands into fists and jerked his head to the left so he was staring at the wall.

“Get out.”

There was a moment of silence. Deafening, crushing and so tangible Sephiroth could pretty much cut it through with Masamune.

Out of the corner of the silver-haired man could see as the redhead straightened to his full height. “You don’t understand it still, do you?” Genesis or not, that voice was wrought with grief. “It makes no difference. They’re still going to sedate you. And Hojo is still going to use me for this.” Bare feet padded on the floor, and the green-eyed First had to close his eyes, pressing his lips into a tight line as the replica stood in his line of sight.

“I have no identity, no other purpose except for this.” There was a brief pause. Something shifted and although the younger man knew that the scarlet-haired stranger in front of him wasn’t going to, couldn’t do him any harm, his reflexes kicked in, grabbing the wrist that was retreating, its owner probably wanting to touch him only to have changed his mind mid-gesture.

“Don’t.”

Yanking his hand free, the other just gazed at him, rubbed an ivory wrist, his familiar yet foreign eyes determined and at the same time, full of a resigned anger. “I know you can kill me in a blink of an eye if you want to.”

For a moment, it was the cell in the solitary all over again. The spitting image of his real lover grabbing his hands only to curl them around a strong pale neck and squeezing as he’d dared him to try and see if he was an illusion before the memory shattered to pieces, a curt order ringing out.

“Just _do it_.”

Sephiroth reeled. Because that dark, insidious part of him wanted to do it. Not because it was angry, or because the deed would be somewhat justified. No, he wanted to wring that graceful neck simply for the _sake_ of wringing it...for the sake of a means to an end. Because he could and no one would really stop him. His hands tightened minutely, and he watched as some of the color drained out of those aquiline features; as the individual before him arched into it willingly, as if death was a gift...a release. The silver-haired soldier’s eyes narrowed, his breathing growing ragged in tangent with that of the stranger before him...a black sort of hunger seared through his veins as the air passing over his cheeks grew stuttered and somewhat hesitant. Leaning in, he let his nose pass over the slope of a proud, familiar-yet-unfamiliar jaw...taking in the tachycardic pulse as he inhaled the scent of life...of the possibility of the end of life. His hands tightened even more and ‘Genesis’ made a choking sound as instinct won over willingness and his body attempted to resist…

_No._

The green-eyed First wrenched himself away as if burned; stumbled back and covered his face with both hands. He couldn’t do this….couldn’t give in to this again; if he did, he wouldn’t be able to face himself...he could hardly face himself already. Blinking rapidly, Sephiroth fought against the downturn of his lips, sank to his knees and shivered violently. The self-hate that rose within him was venomous, it made him want to tear his skin off and crawl out of himself like the broken, ruined creature he’d become. The stranger with his lover’s face followed him to the floor; and he was distantly aware of the fact that he was cursing him, insulting him in that familiar, velvety voice. Growling, the General shoved him away, heedless of when he fell to the side...putting several feet of distance between them before dropping into a crouch and staring at the crumbled figure on the carpet. No, he was not going to do this...he was not going to fall victim to his own weaknesses again. He would die before he did that. Clearing his throat, the General spoke.

“I told you to get out.”

‘Genesis’ stood up from where he had fallen, not uttering a word as muscles moved in fluid motion. Sephiroth was left with his thoughts as the redhead lingered there for some agonizingly long minutes, but he really didn’t look up to see the expression on that pale face opting instead to stare at the carpet.

Finally those shapely legs started moving toward the door, and only then did the silver-haired man raise his head, watching as the man who was the spitting image of his dead lover walked toward the door; shoulders slightly hunched forward, that head of crimson hair hanging before the redhead came to a standstill a couple of steps away from the entrance.

Outside, the sound of thundering feet started getting closer and louder.

‘Genesis’ straightened, lifting his head and exhaling deeply just as the real man used to do, before looking over his shoulder through a fringe of short auburn locks. “I’m sorry that I’m not him.”

And whoever they were, a bunch of Seconds or techs, Sephiroth didn’t know, but it would only be moments before they came barging in.

“I’m sure he loved you very much.”

And the door swung open, the loud bang resounding in the silence that had settled between them. He resisted, though he knew he didn’t have much of a chance regardless; lack of exercise hadn’t made him soft, but it had made him slightly weak. The individuals sent to restrain him were fully prepared for any move he might make, anything he might try. It took eight of them to hold him down and while he struggled silently, he made sure his eyes landed on every face; memorizing features as he twisted and lashed out. They didn’t speak to him, kept their gazes averted to the very end. The General supposed that it was to their credit, they knew better than to try to soften him with soothing words; it wouldn’t work. And as the needle bit into his neck, his eyes landed on the redheaded, swiftly blurring figure at the door. Sephiroth felt his lips curl into a sneer as his vision grew dark, and he said the only thing that he could think of as darkness enveloped his mind.

“ _I hope you rot._ ”


	2. Chapter Two

Shinra manor rivaled the Rhapsodos mansion in its grandeur; even though-considering what the few people who’d been willing enough to speak a few words, had told him-the place had been left abandoned for years.

The climate was cold, a little on the uncomfortable side, especially since he wasn’t equipped with the right attire considering both Mideel and Junon were both near ocean. There had been a slight drizzle when they had landed, making the temperature drop even further, or at least how it was perceived. Angeal couldn’t be more grateful for Turks not being mako-enhanced, because the one assigned with him was both too cold and too tired to accompany him as he’d started making his rounds around the sleepy town.

The four story mansion in front of him was perched atop a hill, surrounded by pines and spruces and then with rocky cliffs looming over it on all sides, except for the front. Tall walls surrounded the courtyard, vines crawling along the white cement here and there. There was a black metal gate at the front, vertical bars adorned with floral motifs on the very top and the very bottom.

Trying it, it didn’t budge; locked.

That wasn’t going to be much of a problem when he could just leap up and over the walls. Maybe it was for the better; kept outsiders who were brave enough to wander too close despite the haunted rumors away.

The Commander was going to check the mako reactor later when his work here was done.

Unfortunately, he had nothing to pick the front door lock with, and had to resort to kicking it-though considering its age with as minimum effort as possible-and the wooden double doors were flung open.

Inside, pretty much everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. There was a mezzanine floor in front of him, a large carpet that seemed to have seen better days covering most of the floorboards that creaked with his each and every step. Really, the whole place seemed like it could use some maintenance and repair. There were patches of black here and there on the white wallpapers, wall lamps adorning the otherwise bare walls, well aside from the floor-standing clock on his left and the rather bleak painting of a vase of flowers in front of him next to another set of double doors that probably opened to the back yard.

Angeal didn’t have time for this.

Quickly, he began opening door after door, forcing open the ones that were closed only to turn up empty handed at every turn. The second floor proved pretty much the same.

Leaning on the rickety-looking yet otherwise sturdy balustrade in front of the tinted arched picture windows, the blue-eyed First sighed, watching as particles of dust danced and descended to the floor in the dim lazy rays. For a moment, an unexpected sense of longing coiled around his heart, lingering there and making him wonder why, and he had to dig deep before he could see it...

_...Laughter._

_Too much of it in the small shed. The feeling of dry, warm hay under him. And they just couldn’t stop laughing._

_Sobering up for a moment, Angeal could see her; his mother standing just beyond the doorway through the ajar door, always respecting his unspoken rule of never entering his lair._

_There was the smell of dumbapple pie, and a fiery-haired teenager raised himself only to lean on pale svelte elbows to utter ‘Thanks, mother.’. And the silence that suddenly descended over the room was the exact opposite of the merriment that had been practically running up the wooden wall panes only to bounce off the roof._

_The smile on Gillian’s face was understanding._

Lines of wisdom had yet to appear on her kind face then.

_She had left them then, unlike the deep shade of red that didn’t seem to want to flee Genesis’ cheeks._

_So, he had laid back beside his best friend, ignoring the minuscule flutter of the dry strands of forage as something dripped on them._

_Instead, they ate in comfortable silence, watching as the golden specks of dust spiraled, twirled and pirouetted…_

Shaking himself out of the memory was really hard, because it reminded him that there was actually a time that they’d simply had no care in the world, that things had been so easy, so happy…once. That Genesis was still alive and they were just two normal boys living in some quaint little town with no aspirations for anything greater.

Sighing and looking around as he blinked the emotions welling in his eyes away, he patted the railing before venturing to the East wing of the building.

That was where he found the stone wall.

It was sticking out like a sore thumb in the whole setting which made Angeal even more certain that there was something behind it. Rapping his knuckles against the rough surface was enough to confirm his suspicions; and pounding a fist against some seemingly loose rocks, finally one of them budged, activating a mechanism beyond, that opened a door in front of him.

A continuous gust of wind made his hair flutter at the sides of his face as Angeal stepped into the well of stairs that spiraled downwards into some sort of basement. Unsheathing his standard issue sword from its place by his belt, he descended, the enhancements helping him pick up the wooden platforms of the stairs despite the darkness, and also the vague but undeniably strong aura of energy that was around here somewhere.

 _Could it be Jenova?_ was his first thought, and the raven-haired man quickened his pace only to emerge out into the basement with several crates that were lying around here and there. There were lamps strung across the walls, some flickering from the dankness of the air, like lanterns glowing faintly through the thin fog that seemed to shroud the place, hugging close to the ground..

The whole place had an eerie vibe to it, and Angeal couldn’t stop the feeling niggling at the back of his head that his presence here was unwanted, unwelcome. But he didn’t let that deter him. Pushing forward and down a flight of stairs and a ladder that descended into a hole in the ground, he was greeted by a vast underground cavern system that was an extension of the basement he’d just come from.

Three doors, and the weirdness of the situation couldn’t be more paramount, except for the aura he’d been sensing getting stronger and more pronounced toward his left.

His footfalls echoed off the walls, and the echoes themselves bounced back again and again, and it felt like there were just too many people in there with him. It didn’t help shake the feeling of incredulity that had been accompanying him.

What greeted him inside the room, actually made it even worse.

Coffins.

The raven-haired First didn’t need to open each and every one of them to know where the emanation was coming from.

The moment the broken lock hit the packed earth, the lid shot up, and Angeal dodged right on time, only to come face to face with a three-barrelled gun pointed between his eyebrows.

“Who are you?” Red irises were looking him up and down as the man in front of him queried.

Despite his odd attire, golden metal boots and a matching gauntlet, the person in front of him was very much a human, not some being from the heavens, or rather from bowels of hell; tattered red cape, leather pants and shirt, and long ebony hair pouring over a maroon bandana.

The sable-haired man couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed as he spoke. “Angeal Hewley. And you are?”

“None of your business.”

The answer he’d received was kind of amusing; almost childish, but the Commander didn’t push. “I’m assuming the reasons of you being down here is also none of my business.” Sheathing his sword which the other occupant of the room had been eyeing for the entirety of their short tête-à-tête, Angeal shrugged before crossing his arms over his chest. “I have to inform you that this is Shinra property, and you can’t stay here, _sir_.”

“What year is it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard what I said.”

The First couldn’t stop the frown that settled over his brow, letting his arms fall lax beside him as he stared at the mysterious individual in front of him. “It’s year 2000.”

“For twenty three years… I’ve been atoning for my sins here. Leave me so I can do penance for my transgressions.”

Back up. Maybe this guy was Jenova? Because whatever he was, he certainly wasn’t human to be able to stay here for as long as he claimed to have been. And was there a reason for him to lie? To a stranger that didn’t even know him? It didn’t make any sense.

“Were you another experiment?” Angeal blurted out, not fully comprehending how he’d drawn that comparison.

Something flashed across the man’s pale features, vanishing too quickly to be noticed. Lowering the gun, the crimson-caped person turned his back on him, walking slowly toward his coffin. “No.”

And it seemed like their conversation had finally ran its course. The blue-eyed First was ready to turn around and leave when the other occupant of the room spoke, his voice low but still audible. “I wasn’t, but I couldn’t save them from being a part of one.” There was a heavy pause. “That’s what I’ve been atoning for.”

The Banoran had expected the man to lie back inside his coffin but he was still standing there, although his tattered crimson cape was facing him, Angeal felt that there was probably no harm done speaking with a man that was probably by all accounts dead to the world. Genesis would probably make fun of him for months if he knew that he was opening up to a total stranger of all people, but then again…

“I’ve just lost a friend.” The Commander paused. “I had promised I’d protect him no matter what. But in the end, I failed. They shot him down right in front of me.” His hands balled into fists. “Shinra… I’m not going to let his blood go to waste.”

This seemed to startle the man in front of him, but Angeal had already turned his back, facing the door he’d come from, before looking over his shoulder. “I don’t know who you’ve lost, or if you’ve lost them, but by sitting around and wallowing in your grief, you’re going to end up with naught but more sorrow and pain. Regardless of whom it was that took them from you, I suggest you stand up and _fight_.”

With that, he left.

* * *

If his mind had been reeling with information by the time he’d set foot in the cold sleepy town of Nibelheim, his skull was just cracking right now.

A heavy headache was throbbing with every beat of his heart, with every whip of the chopper blades outside the black hull of the helicopter.

Angeal was in a state of urgent stupor, as paradoxical as that was.

His mind was still making sense from all the books he’d been going to and fro in that library under the Shinra mansion. All the information regarding Jenova, Jenova Project, Project G, Project S…

It’d felt like the whole world was fraying at the very seams, finally about to unravel and fade into the oblivion of the space that surrounded Gaia. But then Vincent had come forward to speak with him and right then and there his protege had sent him a text that Sephiroth was back in his old apartment with Genesis.

Angeal had almost thrown everything up at that exact moment and teleported back to HQ if he could have. The way the older man had been attentive when the Commander had made the call to Zack to check on Sephiroth again, to make sure the green-eyed First was alright, might have been far more telling if the raven-haired First had been in the right state of mind to pay more attention. In the end, he wasn’t sure if it had been his words with Fair that had persuaded the crimson-caped man to come with him; the fact that the silver-haired man was about to lose his sanity if he figured out that the man he was probably on a honeymoon state of suspension with, wasn’t his fiery-haired lover, or it had been the words Angeal had said back in that room filled with coffins.

What mattered was that the blue-eyed soldier had left everything he’d been reading right then and there, practically ran all the way back to the inn and they were already on their way to Midgar. The only thing that anchored him to the corporeal world was the featherweight accessory currently in the pocket of his pants, and the belief that Sephiroth was strong enough to overcome whatever it was that he’d been going through. Angeal had to believe in him, because he was going to lose his own mind. He had to believe that the younger man was strong enough to face the reality of their origins… because if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was the silver-haired First.

The General had to know that whatever it was that had happened between him and Genesis hadn’t been the reason the redhead had attempted to take his own life, but the tremendous burden of his degradation coupled with the brutal reality of their origins. Sephiroth had to know that the Commander hadn’t just left them because he could, hadn’t left everything just to pursue nothing… to die for nothing. His childhood friend had paid the price of freedom.

Angeal wasn’t sure if he simply passed out on the way from pure exhaustion or his mind just couldn’t withhold under the strain, but by the time he opened his eyes, the metropolis was already expanding beneath them.

The crimson-caped man had been silent beside him all along, well during the time which he’d been awake and cognizant, that is. It wasn’t an unwelcome kind of silence even though it wasn’t comfortable either. The raven-haired First hadn’t expected any less, though, surprisingly from someone who was a veritable stranger still. Emerging after being twenty three years under the ground would be a kind of experience he could only fathom, and imagining things were only so much, and probably as far from truth as slums were from moon.

When they had touched down on the landing pad, Angeal had only acknowledged with a hurried and half-hearted sense of surprise that Vincent and Veld seemed to have known each other; and it was actually the head of the Turks that had gotten them off the hook at least for now, it seemed. The clang of boots against the metal and concrete was enough for the First to know the older man was following him through the winding corridors of the Shinra company.

The raven-haired man hadn’t even bothered to wait for the elevator, deciding to take the stairs three and four steps at a time to get to his destination.

He could only hope against hope that Sephiroth would be alright.

* * *

_“I’m sure he loved you very much…”_

Sephiroth vaulted up in bed, opening his eyes wide and gasping as consciousness hit him like a freight train. The room he was in seemed overly bright...almost static in its clarity. He was struck with the urge to run...to keep running and to never look back. His body was _so weak,_ and his mind felt like it was a mess of coagulated information...snippets of time that had passed, yawning voids of indeterminable, mismatched data.

The headache pounding a relentless drumbeat into his frontal cortex was enough to make him feel nauseous, so virulent was its intensity. Lifting shaking hands, he blinked stupidly at them...watching as his fingers shifted restlessly, beyond his control as his breath hissed through his teeth. The silver-haired soldier swayed, groaning as the room seemed to swim. He was cold, _so cold,_ as if he’d been plunged into an icy lake only to sink to the bottom. His physicality was indeterminably heavy...tired...bogged down by the mess that was his mind.

He was sitting in something warm and wet.

For a horrifying moment, the General assumed he was suffering from nocturnal enuresis. Further investigation proved that this assumption was wrong. He was currently languishing in a pool of dark red fluid. Viscid, copper-smelling and ossified...it coated the sheets and stained them a bright crimson; his hair was soaked with it down one side; stuck to his face and smelling heavily of rust. His left arm was partially coated; from his elbow to the tips of his fingers...blooms of scarlet ameliorated rubicund stains. Sephiroth knew blood...was intimately familiar with it due to his career and due to the own horrors the last few weeks had born him. He was not, however used to waking up covered in blood in his own bedroom.

And this was his bedroom.

The ache in his head intensified and the green-eyed soldier groaned and put a scarlet-sloughed hand to his temple. It felt like someone had reached into his mind and scrambled his recollections...he kept getting pictures of things that didn’t make sense and didn’t belong. It was hard for him to discern what he’d even been _doing_ before he went to bed. Biting his lip, the green-eyed soldier attempted to run a hand through his hair only to wince inwardly when it came back soaked and slightly sticky. Maybe...this was a prank. Could someone have pulled a prank on him in his own apartment? What day was it anyway? Silver brows furrowed. What _year_ was it?! Just as panic started to set in, a fluid, guttural sound to his left made him pause.

There was someone in bed with him.

He deliberated on the sense of turning for quite a while. Because none of this was making any sense and his brain was in absolute shambles. Facing whoever was next to him was bound to make everything even more confusing, and he didn’t need that whatsoever. Ideally, he could get up and take a shower without glancing in that direction at all. But, no; because maybe the person in question was hurt, and that was why there was so much blood. Maybe _he’d_ hurt them? That was another possibility, though he didn’t see it being particularly feasible. In the end, he deliberated for fifteen minutes before rotating slightly. He did it slowly, so as not to startle, trying not to cringe as his body was forced to intermingle with the spillage of hemoglobin, bunching his fingers in crimson-stained sheets as he tried to remain as quiet as possible.

Genesis was lying next to him, dead.

It took his mind a minute to register the information it was being given. Because the evidence before him was so bizarre he didn’t know how to process it. Sephiroth was accosted with a feeling of falling into endless depths, of despair rising up to swallow him. Sapphire eyes gazed at nothing; framed by crimson locks and the soft curvature of plush lips. The sound he’d heard must have been air being expelled from nonfunctional lungs as the body gave itself up to mortality. One pale, slender wrist was lying over the coverlet; slit vertically in a manner as delicate, precise, and fussy as the man himself. The General heard himself make a horrified, strangled sound as he scrabbled backwards, fell over the edge of the bed and remained on the floor, clutching his head.

Then the memories came flooding back.

_He and Genesis sparring, the kiss that had so abruptly ended the spar; Genesis angry with him, unwilling to compromise as he folded and folded until the redhead finally opened up to him...gave him his heart and his body all in one. Genesis lying at the edge of a waterfall, his hair catching the spray as unfocused eyes landed on him in confusion...Genesis laughing, his head thrown back with the sun catching scarlet lashes until it threw little...infinitesimally tiny yellow haloes about his eyes. Genesis holding him…a hand pressed against his chest as he slumbered, his breath hot in his ear. Genesis furious and hurt, Genesis suppressing any noise he might possibly make as he lay prone underneath him...Genesis dying with a hole in his chest, begging for his gaze even as he breathed his last. The false copy of Genesis...with eternally sad eyes and a bleak existence, declaring how the original must have ‘loved him very much.’…‘Genesis’ lying lifeless in his bed covered in blood.  
_

…Someone was knocking at his door.

Sephiroth screamed.

There was a cacophonous **_*bang*_ ** as the door to his apartment was thrown open. It was enough to make the silver-haired man jerk, but not enough to get him off the floor. He remained rooted to the spot as the sound of two sets of feet hitting the carpet became more discernible at a rapid rate, shaking his head from side to side as if doing it enough times would dispel the images in his head. There was the reverberation of another entryway being thrown to the side, and he didn’t have to look to see that it was Angeal. The abbreviated exclamation of horror that left the older man’s lips was enough to discern the identity of his first visitor; the second one remained outside the threshold...and the tentative forward-backward steps that reached his auditory senses indicated hesitance and uncertainty.

“I didn’t do it.”

Sephiroth was aware he was babbling; he repeated the phrase over and over again, as if saying it as a mantra would somehow make it more true. Raising a hand, he clutched a wayward strand of hair and rocked forward; aware that at this point he was looking positively certifiable. Because in a way, he _had_ done it. The individual lying in the bed and soaked in crimson might not be there if he’d just gone with Genesis when he’d asked him to. ..If he’d just admitted that the redhead was right when they’d argued instead of taking a defensive...threatening stance. If he’d simply not _touched_ Genesis the way he had their final night together, he might still be there; laughing riotously at something idiotic on the television or lounging in all his naked glory across the coverlets. Angeal would be walking in on something intimate and tangible, not a bloodbath with the spitting image of his childhood friend splayed lifelessly on the coverlets.

_“I didn’t do it!”_

His dead lover’s best friend gathered him into a bear hug, awkward as it was considering the way he was sitting and Angeal was crouching beside him. And every time that sentence as much as passed his lips in a shaky whisper, those strong muscular arms tightened minutely around him followed by a ‘I know you didn’t.’

The silver-haired man didn’t know how long they were sitting there, in that ridiculous tangle of arms that was bound to give them cramps; but once he was marginally calmer, Sephiroth realized he’d never seen, or rather felt Angeal cry. The slight dampness clinging to his skin was just so bizarre and jarring that he couldn’t help but pull back and stare at those blue eyes that were so different from Genesis’ but still blue.

It was understanding inside them. And pain, and grief. So much of it.

The raven-haired man seemed to be struggling with himself over something for a moment, before reaching inside his pocket and pulling something out.

It caught the rays of the sun before his fellow First took his hand and left it inside his palm. “Take it.”

Sephiroth didn’t need to look to know it was the very same bracelet Genesis had given to him. Swallowing, the silver-haired man fingered the beads...let each one slide over the inside of his palm. It was like learning something easily memorized all over again...really...the feel of the gift the redhead had given him was at once soothing and painfully nostalgic.

_“It’s yours...I hope you like it…”_

The tears that flooded his eyes were startling, because he hadn’t really had the opportunity to grieve Genesis, not really. Clutching the bracelet between loose fingers, Sephiroth fought the sadness that threatened to rise up and swallow him. His lips trembled dangerously as he slid the item over his wrist, exhaling shakily. Bowing his head, the green-eyed soldier let himself disappear behind a curtain of red and silver...his eyes focusing singularly on the item encircling his physicality as he attempted to reign in his emotions. Because he _missed_ Genesis, missed him like he missed having a steady mentality...something rational and simple.

“You don’t have to do that.”

The younger man frowned and looked up at Angeal, whose smile was understanding and a little bit sad.

“Hold it in.” Genesis’ childhood friend clarified. “It’s okay to...to be sad.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. Sephiroth didn’t have a right to grieve because he was the cause of such grief. Because he’d been too stubborn, too loyal to a company that served him up like a piece of meat and then disregarded everything he’d ever done when it came to the _one person_ he’d ever cherished. Realistically, he should have known better...the General should have known that he’d never be allowed to fall in love, especially with one of his own. There was a rustle at the door but he didn’t raise his head, preferring to stare blankly at the far wall as he did his best to pick the pieces of himself up for what felt like the thousandth time. Fuzzily, he wondered when it would be enough...when he would be able to break and remain broken.

_“....But I would catch the sunlight of the most distant body...to keep your heart….”_

His heart was _shattered._

“Angeal.” He said hoarsely. “Give me one reason why I should still be alive, right now.”

A strong calloused hand came to rest on his shoulder, the touch reminiscent of the one outside of Hollander’s lair from what seemed like an eternity ago. The same smile was still playing on his fellow First’s lips before it vanished as the older man’s eyes landed on the scarlet-haired First’s lookalike.

“I was thinking about that for the past month…” There was a sigh, resigned, defeated. “If you want the short answer, it’s because you and me are the only ones who can make sure his sacrifice isn’t going to go to waste.” And Sephiroth wondered for a moment that maybe, it was the very same sacrifice the redhead always spoke of when quoting Loveless.

_“Legend shall speak of sacrifice, at world’s end…”_

If only it was the world’s end already…

He swallowed again before opening his mouth.

“I'm tired of being a hero.” He said bitterly. The silver-haired first gestured at the prone figure on the bed. “Look where it's gotten me, where it's gotten _us.”_

The shuffle at the door came again and Sephiroth raised his head to look into scarlet eyes. Impassive...observant...their scarlet depths brought a shiver down his spine for a reason he couldn't quite name. The visage before him was angular and pale as his own; with a straight, proud nose, angular jaw and dark, severe brows. Jet-colored hair hung in somewhat choppy rivulets; framing his face and sticking up at odd angles before forming a waterfall of onyx over his shoulders and down his back. He was dressed in what appeared to be fatigues and a long-sleeved, tight-fitting tunic with multiple buckles; both garments seemed to be made of sturdy leather. Over all of this was a burgundy-colored cape that appeared to have seen better days. The man in question wore strange gloves and boots; of a gold-metallic quality that would almost have been jester-like or over exaggerated on someone else.

“Maybe it’s not about being the hero.” The individual said in a slow, deep voice. “Maybe it’s just about doing what’s right.”

Irrationally, Sephiroth felt his hackles rise. Because who was this stranger to tell the difference between heroism and justice? What could he possibly know about choosing right over wrong? Good over evil? He’d never stood on the battlefield and listen to the screams of dying men, he’d never been raised in a lab or beaten senseless over something as simple as stealing a cookie. He’d never had everything he ever wanted ripped out from under him by people who wanted nothing but his subservience. He didn’t even know him, so who was he to discern the intricate niceties of the definition of being a SOLDIER? And why was he here in the first place? Surely Angeal hadn’t brought him along, he’d never volunteer to drag someone into HQ who was faceless and nameless...with no identity he was aware of. Whipping around to face the dark-haired First, the General glowered.

“Is there a reason that we have a peanut gallery?”

Blue eyes darted between them for a moment before Angeal spoke up. “Can we at least move to the living room for this?” Sephiroth couldn’t help but notice that the raven-haired man’s posture had tensed, his hands curled into fists as he turned his head slightly to regard the figure currently lying in a pool of drying blood.

A shudder ran down his spine, cold creeping back up his body and the younger First found himself standing up, followed the Commander out of the bedroom only to have the fight or flight response rise up inside him as he came face to face with the immaculate living room. Last time he’d been here, eight men were trying to flatten him against the floor while he’d been glaring at his former lover’s doppelganger in a way that could have been possibly worse than killing.

The ‘peanut gallery’ had decided to stay in the far left corner in front of them, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms and legs in a manner that was kind of familiar.

“Hollander had been hiding in Junon since he’d fled Shinra.” Angeal broke the silence. “Based on what he told me… Genesis was degrading… Almost two thousand years ago, an extraterrestrial life form struck the planet at where we call the northern crater-...”

“-Are you sure this is the right time?” The stranger interjected again, and right when Sephiroth opened his mouth to cut him off, his fellow First placed a big warm hand against his on the couch before turning to address this guy, whoever he was. “He deserves to know the truth.”

“As I was saying, Shinra was the company that excavated her, and used her cells to create the perfect SOLDIER as well as a means for the company to find the rumored promised land because they thought it was a Cetra…” Angeal’s voice had almost lowered to a muted hush, and as much as the General wanted to put two and two together, his brain kept drawing up blanks.

“They called it Jenova, and those projects Jenova Project G, led by Hollander, and Jenova Project S… led by Hojo…”

_Jenova_

The name resonated deeply within Sephiroth, along with a strong feeling of something that could only be called kinship. It had felt the same when Hojo had told him that Jenova was his mother...and that she had died. He had _not_ told him that Jenova was an alien... something not from this world... something inhumane. The General took a deep, shuddering breath. Some part of him that had always known he was different was quietly jubilant, because _here_ was the proof that he was not of this world, and further proof that humans treated things better than them with fear and cruelty. Unwittingly, a smile crept across his lips as the feeling of somewhat unstable happiness rose up within him. He was _not like others_ ...he was _better._ No wonder Hojo was always sneering and sniveling around him, he wanted to be like him. Not pathetically, humanely imperfect like so many others.

“My mother, Jenova.” He murmured, lifting his hands and holding them in front of his face.

“Jenova was _not_ your mother.”

That baritone voice rang out again, strangely authoritative in the enclosed space. Sephiroth leered.

“And what would you know, scarecrow?” He sneered.

The green-eyed man’s jibe was ignored as a wide mouth pulled into a frown and the speaker shifted somewhat against the wall.

“Jenova was not your mother.” The dark-haired man repeated, firmly. “Your mother was Dr. Lucrecia Crescent, the only thing you-and your comrades-share with Jenova is your cells. All of you were injected at some point during gestation.”

There was no lie in the man’s eyes. That much the silver-haired man could see. Whether it was the truth, or whether he believed it the truth, there was no falsity in his voice or gaze.

“I was there.” The red-eyed individual continued. “I know...better than anyone alive save for Hojo.”

And again...there was no hint of outward deception. Sephiroth didn't know what to do with the information given to him. On one hand, the euphoric sensation of being infinitesimally different had faded...replaced with uncertainty and hesitancy. His entire life he'd been told that his mother's name was Jenova. Hojo had always said it disdainfully, scornfully...with a cackle in his voice. Now that he looked at it, maybe he had said it that way to disguise the blatant untruth in his statement...maybe he had laughed because he was feeding him lie after lie after lie. The mere idea of it was painful...that he'd never known his mother's true name until now. _Lucrecia._ The silver-haired man whispered it, rolled it around on his tongue and found it soft... somewhat weak and very lacking.

Both men were watching him with slightly apprehensive expressions, and Sephiroth moved to throw back his hair only to find it stiff with dried blood. Emerald eyes narrowed. Genesis was degrading, Angeal had said. Did that mean he'd defected to find a cure? Almost automatically, he knew the answer was more complicated than that. Genesis had come to him after his diagnosis and practically fallen to his knees begging him to come along. And Sephiroth had squandered that plea heedlessly. It didn't matter that he was ignorant of the cause, there was no excuse. He turned his attention to more pressing, less painful subjects.

“You haven't answered my question.” The General said to Angeal, whose brows were furrowed. “ _Who is this?!_ ”

The raven-haired man looked at the man in front of them, before turning to look at him, his frown deepening, but he leaned back, opening his mouth a couple of times before closing it as though unsure, as though he’d just lost the thread of thought that he’d wanted to utter.

Sephiroth was getting impatient.

“This is Vincent Valentine.” The Commander muttered, but as much as it was good to be able to put a name to a face, it still gave him nothing to work with. “I found him in the basements of the Shinra manor in Nibelheim…” Angeal paused, the thoughtful spell that had fallen over his features breaking for now. “Hollander told me that the Jenova project started there. That Jenova was supposed to be somewhere in Nibelheim. I just managed to search the mansion before Zack told me about your… situation.” It was impossible to ignore how Genesis’ childhood friend’s eyes darted to the closed door of his bedroom, his face falling. “Jenova project G resulted in me and Genesis. My mother… she’d injected herself with those cells. Her cells were then injected to Genesis but I was birthed… _naturally_ .” There was a long sigh. “According to Hollander, I was a success. Like what you saw… Me and Genesis have the ability to create copies via our cells but he could only pass them to human subjects… I don’t understand the reasoning behind this, but the fact that I can create nonhuman copies somehow makes me… _perfect_.” And the adjective was spoken with so much venom that it was more of an insult. “But Hollander says that Genesis didn’t show any remarkable abilities, which in turn was the reason to label him as a failure. A sign being his degradation… his very DNA was fraying at the seams, the genomes being unstable… Hollander said his hair would go white and fall, that his body would age so quickly he probably wouldn’t be around by his forties…” Blue irises turned to look at him. “He knew all of this Sephiroth… Why hadn’t he just talked to us about it…?”

The General waved an idle hand.

“For the same reason we have disclosure clauses in our contracts. Hollander was likely either sworn to secrecy or didn’t care.” He scoffed. “And there’s the fact that Genesis was adopted, if word got out that the Rhapsodos family had taken in a human experiment it would ruin them. Telling us was too much of a risk for liability.” He narrowed his eyes at ‘Vincent.’ “Tell me, where is my mother?”

There was a long silence between his question and the subsequent answer. Pain flashed across those scarlet eyes and Valentine’s head shifted somewhat, his hair falling forward to hide his face. Sephiroth impatiently reflected that nothing he was told would particularly surprise him anymore. He’d been informed that he possessed alien cells, and while the idea wasn’t exactly attractive, it was also liberating in a strange...inhumane way.

“I’m quite certain she is dead.” was the low reply. “As a very early member of the Science Division, Lucrec-Dr. Crescent was unhappy with her life, even when I knew her. She was a broken woman.”

And the silver-haired soldier wanted to sneer at that, but the despair in the older man’s voice held him in check. Inwardly, he reflected she would have to have been broken to work in the Science Division, but the word broken could be replaced with the word ‘twisted’, as far as he was concerned. Anyone who could be part of a division that was alright with turning a blind eye to human experiments was despicable. He had-surprisingly-no sympathy for someone who died while in service to such an atrocious regime. And maybe she’d gotten as good as she’d given...for all he knew, Dr. Crescent was as corrupt and twisted as Hojo.

“Good riddance.” He muttered.

 _This_ got him a reaction.

Vincent snarled, his entire body seemed to shudder as rage flashed across his features...which appeared to blur somewhat before settling. That black-swathed, dark-caped figure withdrew from the wall to stalk forward, until they were separated only by the coffee table.

“You don’t know what Hojo did to her.” Valentine spat. “You don’t know what she went through just to give _birth_ to you.”

“But she still let them experiment on me, didn’t she?” Sephiroth retorted, equally angry. “What kind of mother allows that? Certainly not a good one.” Angeal put a steadying hand on his arm but he ripped it away. “What kind of mother decides to bear a child in that kind of environment?! What was she even _thinking?!”_

“Because Gaia forbid a woman desire a child!” was the furious response. “And then to have that child _ripped_ from her, it destroyed her! It-!” The dark-haired man appeared to struggle with himself before his shoulders slumped. “You don’t know” he said tonelessly.

“And I don’t want to.” The green-eyed soldier snapped. “She’s dead. Nothing can change that,  you can glorify her all you want, but she’s not going to rise from the grave.” Grief rose up within him as his mind briefly flashed to Genesis. “ _No one_ does.” He said in a choked voice. “No one.”

“Sephiroth.” Angeal said quietly, pacifically. “I know-”

The General’s phone went off. For a moment, none of them really seemed to register it, the tension in the room was so tenuous. Then, as if waking from a dream, the youngest of the trio reached out and flipped it open. It was a notification from Hojo, requesting his presence in the labs.

“I’ve got to go.” He said bitterly.

 _“Now?!”_ Genesis’ childhood friend exclaimed incredulously. “You don’t have any missions, you’re practically suspended for life!”

And _that_ was interesting, but Sephiroth ignored it in favor of the question.

“I have to go to the labs.” He said flatly. “For reconditioning.”

There was a silence between the two of them as Angeal processed what he was saying. Vincent was not so silent.

“Reconditioning?” He asked sharply.

Stubbornly, the silver-haired soldier glanced away, glaring at the far wall. Forced to take the lead in the conversation, his fellow First opened his mouth to speak.

“You can’t be serious!” Angeal exclaimed yet again, disbelief visible on his face. “You can’t simply go to him after all he did… to You, to Genesis!” Those large hands were balled into fists again which made him want to snarl. Vaguely, he realized this was the very same attitude that had torn them apart that night. “And for what, for him to torture you some more?” The raven-haired soldier gestured around the room, pausing at the closed door of his sleeping quarters. “Hasn’t this been enough?”

“What do you mean torture? You go to him willingly?” The man who claimed to know his mother so well, stepped forward, just as bewildered as the Commander, if not even more.

Oddly, it felt like he was being cornered, and the same darkness that had been shrinking in size but never getting any less powerful, rose up inside him, and this time, it weren’t tendrils or claws that crawled up his throat, but an ominous onyx wave that rushed forth on his tongue, that surged through his arm as he pushed the crimson-caped man away, snarling in an animalistic voice that wasn’t entirely like his own.

“What is it to _you_?”

Something took great delight as the older man staggered backwards, and Sephiroth was overwhelmed by an urge to do more damage, to push more.

_‘I hope you rot.’_

Waving a dismissing hand, he continued, smirking inwardly. “Spare me your lies about how you care, because you don’t have the _right-..._ ”

“I Have **A** Right.” Came back an equally animalistic roar, the sharp pale features swathed in a shimmering aura of magenta tendrils. “I’m your **Father**.”

It was rather like getting sat on by a Behemoth.

The air seemed to get pushed out of Sephiroth's lungs as he shrank back into the couch. Because there was _no way_ this man was his father. Even as his logical mind protested violently, a small, inward part of his psyche acknowledged that it was likely true. The man before him shared many of his features, including his indomitable stubbornness. Beside him, he could sense that Angeal was just as shocked as he was; the older man had gone completely still, and he was looking at the towering individual before him like he’d never seen him before. Which-feasibly-they’d just met as far as the General was concerned. Bitterly, the silver-haired soldier realized that Genesis would likely be rolling on the floor laughing at this point. Because of course his _father_ had to have been holed up in Shinra Mansion for who knows how many years while he fought his way to the top. Opening his mouth, the green-eyed First said the first thing that came to mind.

“Where have you been?”

At that, Vincent seemed to deflate. The power roiling just beneath his skin dissipated as if it had never been, and his entire body slumped once more. Irritably, Shinra’s finest wondered how someone could go between two emotional extremes so easily. Because he was still fairly upset about this new development. Wasn’t it enough that he had components of an alien from outer space? Wasn’t it enough that he’d spent his life being what amounted to a militarized slave? Wasn’t it enough that the love of his life was dead and rotting somewhere nameless? Stubbornly, Sephiroth forced his thoughts of Genesis away, because the more he thought about Genesis the worse he felt. The redhead should have _told_ him that something was wrong, should have come to him with everything right away, so they could figure it out together. Now he was alone, facing the man who claimed to be his father alone...and he wanted nothing more than to be able to curl up against the warmth of his fellow First, even if he was laughing his head off. It would be better than knowing he was moldering away in an unmarked grave.

“I have been...atoning.”

_‘Bullshit.’_

The statement rose up in his mind with a very Genesis-esque tone. Because that was exactly what it was; bullshit. Atoning for what? For not being there to raise his son? For running away from something that could have saved his life? Or at the very least, given him a _better_ life?

“Atonement?” He spat. When Vincent looked away he grew further enraged. Turning to Angeal, he raised an eyebrow. “Where _exactly_ did you find him?” There were five long minutes of silence, and by the time his fellow First seemed even marginally ready to reply, he was through with it. “Just spit it out. Exactly. Where. You. Found. Him.”

Angeal cleared his throat.

“I found him in Shinra Mansion, in the basement” He appeared to hesitate. “...In a coffin.”

Sephiroth saw red. Slowly, he turned back to his ‘father’, who was looking at him apprehensively.

“The last time I checked, _‘atonement’_ didn’t equate to _‘nap’._ ”

“You don’t understand.” His ‘father’ whispered, backing away from the coffee table that was separating them. “I… I…” The older man hung his head, bending his arms at the elbows so he could look at his hands, the gauntlet clinking softly as he flexed his fingers. There was a sharp gasp and when Vincent spoke again, it was as if he and Angeal weren’t there. “I didn’t stop her… I… I couldn’t save her, save you… She just wanted to see you once… for Hojo to give you back… and I just watched…”

From where he was sitting, Sephiroth could see that those maroon eyes were unfocused, a mixture of shock and pain flashing over those familiar and yet entirely foreign features.

“I was assigned for her protection… and I couldn’t even…” Vincent looked up, pressing his lips together behind the high collar of his cloak before speaking yet again. “You don’t understand how it feels like to stand by and watch as your bel-...as Lucrecia faded away, vision after vision. I tried to stop him…” The older man looked away and down, his posture almost vibrating with tension. “You don’t understand waking up as a monster to find her gone…” Again those features seemed to waver, flickering between something as though the person in front of them was but a figment of their imagination, a simulation.

“ _This._ Is my punishment.” His ‘father’’s voice was different, hoarse and somewhat deeper.

Sephiroth reverted his focus yet again, because he was so angry the idea of getting up and pulling Masamune from the wall was looking more and more attractive. And to hell with waking up a monster, he’d been told he was a monster since he was born. That wasn’t an excuse to sequester yourself away from everyone you knew and loved, and it certainly wasn’t an excuse to abandon a child...your child. The more he thought about it, the angrier he felt...because he didn’t want this...hadn’t _asked_ for this. Shinra’s finest didn’t want to make any wonderful, existential discoveries about himself because he was tired. _Exhausted._ Underneath that bone-deep weariness was a simmering rage that seemed to feed off his mental instability, and he knew the more he fixated on things that bothered him, the stronger it would become.

“Potential paternity aside, why didn’t Genesis tell us?” He muttered to Angeal. “Why didn’t he ask for help?”

Angeal’s eyes softened, traversing the paths between apprehension and sympathy gradually but understandingly.

“I just asked you that.” was the heavy reply, and the weary resignation in that slow, patient voice was as painful as it was depressing. “A few minutes ago.” The dark-haired first amended. “And I can’t answer that, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know.”

If Sephiroth hadn’t acted so foolishly, so hatefully, the redhead might have still been with them. Then again, there was no telling what Shinra would have done to keep them apart...and it didn’t change the fact that the Commander had still been degrading. Ducking his head, the silver-haired man’s lips thinned. Would he have been able to watch the older man waste away before his eyes? Would he have been an adequate caregiver during such a difficult time, or would the process of viewing something like that have driven him equally mad? It was impossible to tell now, of course...but he realized-with a painful jolt-that he likely would have. He’d have rather Genesis stayed at HQ so he could tend to him...take care of him instead of running off to start a massive mutiny and getting shot by the man he hated most.

“Genesis told me he was dying.” The green-eyed First said, the confession issuing through numb lips before he could stop it. “He didn’t say why, but he begged me to defect with him...I refused.” He felt Angeal stiffen. “I should have told you, or maybe he did tell you...in one way or another, but I didn’t tell you that.” Genesis’ childhood friend was silent, and he closed his eyes as he continued. “We...fought. When he came to me asking me to defect with him we fought, it was the worst fight we’d ever had. I didn’t handle it well, neither did he...but the things said, the things done, nothing would have fixed the rift it caused between us.” The green-eyed First looked at his hands. “I think back on that night... _every night,_ every day. Think about what I could have said differently, could have done differently.” He glanced at Angeal, who was still and pale. “I could have called you, but I did everything wrong. I’m sorry.” The youngest of the trio breathed out shakily. “Part of why I’m telling you is because I imagine he didn’t tell you, and you deserve to know that...it wasn’t your fault. He was sick, heartbroken-and I’m not saying that because I think I’m a catch-” He chuckled bitterly. “-But because we loved each other, and that love was likely a driving factor in his defection.”

Angeal’s eyes that had been so full of understanding were now stricken with pain, and there was really no need for words.

Genesis hadn’t told his childhood friend that he’d been dying.

He hadn’t told him that he’d wanted to defect.

The raven-haired First was looking down at some point on the carpet, his big hands wringing the loose fabric of his pants as he seemed to be struggling with words.

Silence fell on the room, just as unwanted and unwelcome as the massive load of information pressing down on his psyche.

The shrill sound of his phone jarred the three of them out of whatever had been going on their minds. Sephiroth didn’t need to check it to know it was Hojo, probably threatening him that if he didn’t come to the labs willingly, the scientist was going to send an entourage after him.

“Hojo, is it?” The ruby-eyed man whispered, his voice tinged with a hint of anger.

The silver-haired First decided not to answer. It wasn’t out of spite or anything. His silence was far too telling. To his left, the rustle of Angeal’s clothes drew his attention as the older man leaned forward in his seat, holding a head of jet black strands in his hands. “We need to get rid of him.”

That came as a surprise.

Just as he was about to object, to tell the blue-eyed First what he had told Genesis on that very night, the Commander sat straight, facing him with undivided attention. The resolve Sephiroth was seeing in that pale face was unstoppable.

“This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Things need to change around here. Shinra can’t continue to exist the way it does today. This place is like a house of cards; one gust of wind, a slight nudge, and it will go tumbling and it _Will_ drag us all under with it. I need your help in this. Hell, we need all the help we can get in this.”

Rationally, the silver-haired man acknowledged that their odds were now considerably better than they were before. Shinra still held a position of power, but this was the two of them, united. Sephiroth sent an irritable glance at Vincent and grudgingly gave him a score of about half; they were two and a half. They might have been _three_ and a half if the General was even the slightest fraction of the man he pretended to be. If he’d bothered to use his brain in any way shape or from when it came to the potential third member of their party. Even if he didn’t agree with the idea of taking over Shinra, he _did_ want revenge on Hojo. Revenge was practically a necessity at this point. Killing him might not be enough…The green-eyed First turned the thought over in his mind as he chewed on his lower lip. No, death was certainly not enough. Sitting up, he looked at Angeal steadily.

“Fine.” Sephiroth said flatly. “Let’s start with Hojo then.”

He didn’t miss the way his fellow First’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as shock encompassed kindly features in the face of the younger man’s acquiescence. Angeal didn’t need to know he wasn’t staying after they killed Hojo, he didn’t need to know he was going directly to Nibelheim to pick up where Genesis’ childhood friend had left off. Angeal didn’t need to know that he was going to find out more about Jenova. In order to wipe out Shinra, he would have to be significantly more powerful than he was right now. He didn’t know how he’d accomplish that, but it was better than fooling himself with fantastic ideas of reform and intricate plots to usurp or infiltrate. Sephiroth had had enough of political battles, of fighting for something he didn’t really believe in. Genesis had felt the same...and if he needed to follow in his footsteps to get what he wanted, then he’d do that.

That being said, he wasn’t going to take any of his men with him...that much at least would be different. He couldn’t ask anyone to follow him on a mission whose end was uncertain. There was no telling what his research would unearth, and he didn’t have time to take care of an army along with himself. If discovering more of Jenova necessitated a large military presence, he was sure that his men would be loyal. Disdainfully, Sephiroth wondered how anyone could possibly be loyal to him when it was painfully clear how severely he’d failed in Wutai...and then how he’d promptly deserted his duties straight afterwards only to come back from Banora looking no worse for wear. He’d practically _flaunted_ his vacation, no wonder he hadn’t heard from his field sergeant.

Standing, Sephiroth warred with himself before sighing and forcing his steps towards the bedroom. He ignored the apprehensive queries Angeal threw at his back; preferring to open the door and step through. The smell of blood was just on the side of offensive at this point, but the silver-haired man ignored it. Instead, he breezed past the prone figure on his comforter to take Masamune from its spot on the wall;. Pulling it down carefully...a thrill ran through him as his hands gripped the heft of the hilt. Resting it against the doorframe, the General hastily dressed in his standard uniform before sliding his weapon into its sheath. He then spun around to approach the bed; taking but a moment to drink in those beautiful...familiar features before leaning down to pull a fresh sheet out of a drawer.

Cleaning the copy was the hardest part.

Because no matter how much he told himself it _wasn’t_ Genesis, his mind insisted it was. So it was with trembling fingers that he let a damp washcloth slough blood away from pale skin...over crimson locks and slender fingers...calloused fingers. Sephiroth then took the bedsheet and slid it under the clone; bringing the edges up and around, repeating the gesture until the redhead was entirely covered. Exhaling, Sephiroth allowed himself to heft the body in his arms....unsurprised when it turned out to be heavier than he imagined but not too heavy for him. Kicking the door outwards, the General was greeted with the sight of Angeal looking at him from the living room like he’d gone absolutely starkers and Vincent leaning up against the wall again with a bored expression.

“What are you doing?!” His fellow First hissed.

“We’re going to see Hojo, correct?” Sephiroth queried flatly. When a slow, incredulous nod was his only response, he raised a silver brow. “I’m returning to him what’s his, I don’t see the issue.”

For a moment, it seemed like Genesis’ childhood friend was going to protest. The raven-haired man took a step forward, his hands twitching where they were hanging limply by his sides, only to stop.

Right when it seemed like the Commander would move away from his path, a tentative hand rose to the sheets covering the doppelganger's head. And as those strong fingers moved the sheets away, Sephiroth could see how Angeal’s face fell, the corners of solemn lips turning down and his sky blue eyes brimming with anguish. In a surprising but kindly gesture, the older man brushed the fiery mane… and the General could understand that, the desire to engrave those familiar pale features in their memories because the Genesis they knew was gone.

Dead.

It seemed like the word was finally registering in his brain. That somehow, what he’d done in his bedroom was going to finalize the fact that his lover was irrefutably, irreversibly gone.

“We never got the chance to say goodbye.” was the longing yet determined whisper.

And as those muscular arms took the heavy body out of his hands, Sephiroth was sure that the grunt escaping the Commander’s lips had nothing to do with the weight. He said nothing as Angeal started moving ahead of them, didn’t protest even though he knew that his fellow First was going to carry the replica of their mutual friend around so everyone who saw them in their path would know that Shinra had killed Genesis Rhapsodos.

The silver-haired man couldn’t care any less what became of the company. In his mind, it was already dead, just as dead as his former lover was. Rotting and crumbling away in some hole in the ground. Shinra was dead when they decided to cross him and then double cross him, again and again throughout the entirety of his twenty three years.

Ironically, bitterly, he realized, that what he was about to do was the very same thing Genesis had asked him that night they had fought over Hojo; that he draw a line.

Well, Sephiroth was drawing a line. Now.

A line of blood and steel which he wasn’t sure that once he started, he’d be able to stop.

It took them a long time to get down to the Science Division.

Mostly because once they made it out into the public access part of the halls, they began to gather a crowd. At first it was merely a few curious desk clerks, but upon seeing who was wrapped in the length of sheet, they quickly retreated. Their reaction was noted by a group of Seconds standing near the lift doors, and they quickly crowded around-though not too close-to observe and follow. One of them Sephiroth recognized as a medic who Genesis was particularly fond of...part of the battalion he commanded. The young man’s face was as white as a sheet as he braced himself against the lift walls...baring his teeth as unshed tears created a watery film over his eyes. Others had more...explosive reactions.

A woman whom he did not know wearing a badge that sequestered her in Accounting took one look and burst into a hail of tears so loud it made the silver-haired soldier feel like his head was exploding. Several handsome techs simultaneously dropped their briefcases upon seeing what was before them and the beautiful, middle-aged undersecretary Sephiroth knew from vital statistics held a lace handkerchief to her mouth before running in the direction of the facilities. There were more...so many more...a great procession of people were following by the time they were halfway there.

The General realized-with a sincere jolt of shock-that he was seeing exactly how many people had _loved_ Genesis. The real Genesis; it didn’t particularly matter that this one was a copy. These people cared about the redheaded man currently buried who-knows-where. Bitterly, Sephiroth wondered if his second-in-command had ever known he was so loved. He recalled the scarlet-haired First chatting idly with many, many people...though he’d never known him to refer to anyone but Angeal and himself as ‘friends.’ It seemed that despite this, there were a multitude of people who considered the redhead one of theirs...or at least cherished him to a significant degree. The youngest of the trio wondered what that was like...to have people adore you so easily...without even trying or really being aware of it. His entire life, he’d had to work hard to sustain relationships, and while he didn’t necessarily envy Genesis his social ease, he occasionally wished he were able to be more forthcoming.

Eventually, it became clear that they were being monitored by the Turks.

Unable to get close enough to intervene, the black-suited men remained sequestered in dark corners, skirting the skirts of the crowd with hands to their earpieces...muttering to each other as they attempted to discern a peaceful solution. Tseng was conspicuously absent, but Sephiroth didn’t think on it, preferring to press ahead to his intended destination. None of this mattered. It was touching...somewhat...but he was going to be gone and none of this would be a substantial facet of his future. He needed to focus on what was ahead, these people were only now catching up on what was-to him-long behind.

Upon reaching the elevator to the Science Division, Sephiroth stepped back to wait impatiently as his fellow First stepped forward. As if by some unspoken agreement from the crowd, the medic the General had seen earlier walked out of it, his fists balled at his sides, his expression dark. Mako-blue eyes met mako-blue eyes and the silver-haired soldier had a moment of indecision. Because _this_ was where Shinra’s regime would fall; with the words that spilled from the mouths of a young man and an experienced warrior. Letting his eyes fall on the soft spill of thick scarlet locks over the crook of the Commander’s arm, Shinra’s finest grit his teeth as his heart clenched painfully. Yes...he would be _happy_ to be gone.

“Who did this?”

The medic’s voice was rough with grief, his face red with suppressed anguish. The crowd seemed to wait with baited breath, all eyes on Angeal as they waited for his answer. The dark-haired First shifted, and Sephiroth closed his eyes as a pearl-pale arm fell from the blanket; not the one that the copy had chosen to mutilate himself with-thankfully-but it was still there...still graceful and familiar and yet _not what he wanted._ Vincent seemed to be trying to catch the eye of Veld, who was looking like he either wanted to explode or arrest all of them. When he spoke, Angeal’s voice was calm.

“Shinra did this.”

There was a collective, disbelieving gasp; several Turks shoved forward only to be pushed back by several Seconds in the back of the crowd. Sephiroth recognized them as members of Genesis’ battalion. The dark-suited agents were manhandled roughly into submission, and the silver-haired soldier had the immense satisfaction of watching Reno get shoved up against the wall by Zack, identical sneers on their faces.

“Shinra did this.” Angeal repeated. “Because the three of us; Genesis, Sephiroth and I, were created under different circumstances, scientific circumstances. Because they wanted better soldiers, and yet this is how they treat those they perceive as better...because if you’re better, you’re a liability, and when Genesis discovered the truth that is exactly what he became. If this is how they treat us, your General, your Commanders...imagine how they will treat you. Are you content to live this way? _Will_ you live this way?” The lift doors opened, and Sephiroth automatically stepped through, followed closely by Vincent. “I won’t live this way.” Angeal continued, backing up. “And if you really want to live, you’ll follow my advice, and try to make this company something worth _living_ for.”

The elevator doors slid shut.

For a few minutes before the lift moved, there was silence. Then, there was a unanimous, angry roar from the crowd and the retort of gunfire. Sephiroth looked over at Angeal, raising a silver brow and the dark-haired man shrugged, looking unusually cheerful for someone who had just caused a massive mutiny. Before long, they were too many floors below it to notice. As they descended, the lights began to flicker, as if there was something wrong with the wiring system. The lift shuddered before continuing, and a sense of deep foreboding trickled down the General’s spine. He sensed that Vincent was suddenly extremely tense, and that the maroon-caped man had gravitated closer to him, slightly in front of him and facing the entryway, as if shielding him. The green-eyed first scowled, because he did _not_ need protection. The elevator shuddered to a halt…there was a low...reverberating noise...like a massive animal traversing the depths of the sea...the doors creaked open….

...The Science Division was completely black.

For a moment, Sephiroth was disoriented, both by the impenetrable darkness...which lifted only slightly as the mako in his eyes adjusted, and the yawning...reeling sense of danger that seemed to grip every facet of his psyche. There was the hiss of electric wire, and a fallen line threw the scene into sharp relief. Angeal drew in a ragged breath, stumbled back and nearly dropped the copy. Valentine growled something indiscernible and his hand came out to push the General back. Angrily, the silver-haired soldier batted it away, shoving forward as he did so.

There were bodies everywhere.

Blood had been sprayed across the wide, smooth-tiled flooring; making footing precarious and slippery. Various lab techs were scattered about the immediate hallway...they appeared to be the ones who had gotten the furthest. Whatever had killed them had done so mercilessly and without care; chunks of flesh were separated from the bone...bits of skull matter and hair were splattered over the walls. Wide, unseeing eyes were permanently frozen in grotesque caricatures of horror. Over all of this was an appalling stench...something akin to rotting flesh and loamy soil...pervasive, cloying, all-consuming. The sound came again, further away, but it was no less powerful in the way it vibrated the bones and hummed through capillaries.

They were plunged into darkness again.

Sephiroth huffed and drew Masamune, looking in the general direction of Angeal.

“I hope you are very happy.” He said flatly before storming away into the darkness.  



	3. Chapter Three

The low foreboding hum seemed to vibrate through the entirety of the floor they were on, moving across the walls and the floor to come crawling up his spine, and Vincent drew out Cerberus from its holster just as Angeal lay the copy among the numerous bodies that were strewn here and there like broken ragdolls.

He didn’t need to hear that ominous noise to know something was lurking ahead, as within him, Chaos seemed to be thrashing against the bars of his mental cage, threatening to resurface like it had the couple of times inside Sephiroth’s apartment. The beast inside him was hearkening to this monster, and he couldn’t stand there any longer.

Especially not when the silver-haired man had disappeared into the darkness.

Abandoning caution, he moved quickly among the pieces of severed flesh littering the floor, his boots slipping a few times across the crimson liquid and gore that was painting the once pristine tiles-Vincent presumed-in a grotesque artwork of human mortality. From the footfalls following him, the First class soldier was behind him, and the lights flickered on again, disorienting and painful.

He didn’t like this at all.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, they passed through entryways that were mangled out of their rectangular shape, the heavily reinforced doors that once stood there fallen underfoot and slashed through.

There was the hiss of a blade and the-this time-different animalistic thrum that spurred the crimson-caped man and his companion into motion. Jumping through the elevator well that seemed to bring them to another level of the labs, they were again shrouded in darkness before they came face to face with the abomination that had caused the carnage on the upper floor.

Massive jaws with razor-sharp teeth were at least eighty feet above the ground, towering over a dash of shimmering silver in the darkness. A lanky body with a sickly shade of violet rose from a heap of unnameable form that was lined with three tusks in the middle. The blade of Sephiroth’s katana was holding a trident of an appendage at bay, while another limb was supporting the monstrosity against the ground.

It wasn’t much of a choice afterwards to let Chaos take over. In that moment, he felt his consciousness being pushed back as Vincent was forced to take a backseat, watching through golden eyes as the beast inside him emerged through swirling tendrils of tainted Lifestream.

His crimson, tattered cape had become its wings, his headband had merged with the onyx locks on top of his head, warped into a large crest of horn-like protrusions; the remainder of his clothes melded with the greyish-black skin of the demon, forming what appeared to be an exoskeleton with muscular definitions and various protuberances of corrupted features. His golden gauntlet had merged with his arm, and where his heart had been beating in the cavity of his chest was now substituted with the bluish glow of the materia that helped keep the demon at bay.

Feeling his lips retract and baring sharp fangs as he roared back, Chaos leaped up and forward to slash at the joint that was keeping their enemy upright.

There was a scrape of ivory against hardened steel, and the hand trapping Vincent’s son between those claws and the floor was rising up to meet him. Chaos dodged, running up against the limb as he fired, empty clips clattering against the metal grating on the ground. Those powerful jaws that could bite him in half like he was some butterfly drew close, attempting to bring to reality what had just come to pass in his head, only for them to pass yet another thrum of pain. As much as he wanted to look down and see through the darkness what those two soldiers were doing down below, the demonic man focused at the task at hand. Because this was the only chance he had to avenge Lucrecia, avenge all the years he’d spent down there in the dank basement of Shinra mansion atoning for his sins when Sephiroth was being nurtured and bred for whatever had become of his life. This was the only chance he had to take revenge for the life they could have had, the three of them, if Vincent had been strong enough, if he had been good enough…

It didn’t matter if he had to give his life away to protect what was left of Lucrecia.

Their son.

His rage only served to fuel Chaos, and he knew as much as he would hate himself later for letting it take over, he couldn’t let Hojo-who had turned into an equally ugly monster that was the physical manifestation of his corrupted twisted soul-take anyone away from him anymore.

Golden talons imbedded themselves inside a gaunt neck, deep, before slashing through and tearing chunks of flesh before throwing them aside. Blood gushed forth, black and bubbling, and the crimson monster flapped its wings to escape from the limb that had nearly succeeded in swatting him away like a fly.

Below, Vincent was distantly aware of the fact that his son was a good fighter. Better than good really. Sephiroth was breathtakingly agile, but the bitterness that rose up acknowledging that he had been engineered that way quelled his pride. Lucrecia had consented to turn their son into this, and no matter how much he might want to tell himself he was proud, he was also deeply unhappy...because the silver-haired man below him could have had a much better life. Slicing through a grotesque appendage that appeared before him, he gave himself to the rage of Chaos, settling himself into what he liked to think of as the 'backseat’. The abomination below him gave another of those thrumming, vibrating eludications, and he watched in a kind of surprised wonder as a flash of silver and black scaled the massive, undulating trunk of the monstrosity...not missing a beat as it swung atop the head in a hiss of metal and leather.

Sephiroth didn't spare him a glance as he went to work, and it was with a grudging respect that he watched his son adjust his blade with a sort of detached professionalism. Reluctantly, he admitted that the green-eyed soldier had skill with the sword he could only dream of. He'd always been more partial to guns; though Chaos seemed to be partial to anything he could sink his claws into. This thought was further ameliorated when the demon in question roared and lunged downwards, swiftly dodging oddly vibrating purple limbs to gouge a deep gash just above the creature’s snout. Angeal was doing something far below them...his blade but a dim shimmer in the low light of the room as it attacked the base of whatever Hojo had become.

Black blood sprayed across his visage as Chaos took hold of one of the appendages, ripping viciously...as if determined to remove it from its owner. There was a sickening, wet crunching sound as he was partially successful. Sinew and muscle tore at what might have been considered a shoulder...noir-colored hemoglobin spilling forth as the abomination’s low, thrumming noises grew slightly higher in pitch, as if responding to pain. The foundations of the building shook as the purplish 'trunk’ smashed into a wall before righting itself and plaster rained down from the ceiling. There was the tell-tale **_*shing*_** of a weapon in motion, and Sephiroth was a fluid blur before him, vaulting over the muzzle of the beast, through glittering teeth into the red...gaping maw beyond.

For a heart-stopping moment, Vincent was truly terrified.

Because he had just witnessed his son disappearing into the gullet of a fearsome foe as if it was as easy as breathing. Then, there was the tear of flesh…the humming rose to an almost unbearable pitch...and the tip of a slim, silver blade slammed through the top of the creature’s skull.

He knew for a fact that the monster before them was finished but a foreign sense of relief only filled him after Sephiroth’s blade swung in a semicircle before wrenching free, the silver-haired man emerging out of it dripping the blackest of bloods but otherwise unharmed. The crimson-eyed man was so stunned with the revelation that he hadn’t noticed that Chaos had gone dormant until gravity was pulling him down, and he landed in a graceful crouch before straightening to his full height. His son followed suit in a couple of short moments, and the creature they had been fighting started disintegrating and fading as though it had never been.

In the wake of its annihilation, the man of his nightmares was lying on the floor, prone, disheveled and rattled in a fashion Vincent had never seen. And it somehow felt right, somehow felt just, because it meant that even though he hadn’t been able to save her, even though he hadn’t been able to save him, this spelled the end of their nightmares. There would be no more torture, no more experiments, especially if they managed to reform Shinra as his son’s comrade had proposed earlier.

Maybe… just maybe, there was a hope for redemption in his life.

To at least try and make things right.

There was blood oozing down Hojo’s nose and ears as the scientist fixed Sephiroth with a look that was still belittling despite how the younger man towered over him.

“I see you’re adding more freaks to your circus.” Came out a wet nasal croak. “First that redheaded _courtesan_ and now _this_?” And even though he was dying, the twisted man was still laughing that terrible maniac cackle that chilled Vincent to the bone. “I assume the body I sculpted for you wasn’t enough to cater to your needs like that shallow lover boy of yours?”

“Shut up.” Angeal snarled, raising his sword sightly as the burly man stepped forward. “ _Murderer!_ You have no _right_ to speak about Genesis like that.”

His answer was another cackle that turned into a fit of coughing that lasted for about a minute before Hojo started ranting, not deigning to spare Vincent and his son’s friend a glance. “He’s spewed lies about your mother too?” A lax finger pointed in his direction. “I tell you boy, they’re all weaklings… those you surround yourself with… and she wasn’t even worthy of being your mother. Jenova is. She was just a vessel, a body, just like the one you were copulating with.”

“A vessel.”

Sephiroth’s voice was strangely toneless, his face blank, as he echoed what the madman before them had said. Onyx blood dripped down his face as he spoke, across his nose and over his mouth before creating dark trails just shy his chin. Looking worriedly at the young man, Vincent couldn’t help but wonder how someone could be so composed...so utterly frigid in the face of an individual insulting their beloved. He himself was barely restraining Chaos from attacking the man before them; it was-in total verity-the only reason he hadn’t done so himself. Because if Chaos lost control now there would be nothing with which to focus his rage...not for long anyway. A terrible, frigid sensation of apprehension seared through his veins as Sephiroth’s lips parted in a dark grin, normally white teeth stained somewhat as inky, hemolytic fluid seeped betwixt and across them.

“I wonder.” The General said in a voice that was halfway between a growl and a purr. “All you talk about is how individuals are used for greater things… _‘vessels’_ for unknown purposes...for vague and obscure scientific definitions.” He tilted his head, and those beryl eyes were aflame among a visage suffused with nothing but rage. “I wonder.” Sephiroth repeated, his tone lowering into that of a hiss. “If I split you open and see what’s inside…will you be a _vessel_ for something greater?”

His son’s blade scraped against the floor as he began a slow advance; Vincent reached out-for what reason he didn’t know-only to have a firm hand on his arm stop him. Looking backward, the scarlet-caped man came face to face with Angeal’s solemn expression. Subtly, the Commander shook his head. Reverting his focus, Vincent reluctantly acquiesced. Hojo had retreated somewhat, though his strength appeared to be fading fast...before they were directly in front of each other, the silver-haired soldier stopped again...his features suffused with an unnameable...dark hunger.

“I wonder.” The youngest of them said for the third time. “If there’s anything worth salvaging of you at all.” The tip of his sword danced across frail shoulder blades; trailing somewhat against a blood-soaked ear before dropping downwards to pose at the center of the bespectacled scientist’s chest. An idle flick-the hiss of fabric-and-and a low chuckle forced another shiver through the onyx-haired individual’s entire body. “Hmph.”

The two spectators jumped as there was the clatter of metal hitting concrete; Sephiroth dropped his weapon so fast it was a blur and then he was moving; yanking Hojo forward in an iron grip, his lips bared in a snarl as he reached forward with one hand, slipping it through the hole in the grey-haired man’s shirt...fingers digging into the flesh just above his heart. To his credit, the scientist didn’t cry out...didn’t beg for his life, merely sneered at the individual looming over him. Even when the silver-haired man leaned in so close their noses nearly brushed, he didn’t flinch.

“For the record.” Sephiroth continued. “This is for _Genesis.”_

Hojo screamed.

Vincent supposed it was hard not to scream when someone was ripping your heart out of your chest with their bare hands. The General’s fingers sunk deep, as if the dermis before it was nothing but butter, blood welling around submerged digits as his victim howled his agony to the heavens. Until then, the red-eyed gunslinger hadn’t really grasped the full extent of his son’s strength...now that he did, he was both cowed and saddened. Because no human being should have that much responsibility heaped upon them...to have that much power and use it for nothing but death and slaughter would be mind-bending.

There was a muffled crunching sound as the ribcage was shattered; distantly, Vincent heard Angeal’s breath catch in what appeared to be incredulous shock. And it _was_ shocking...sickening really...but at the same time understandable. A moist, oleaginous sucking sound...like a plunger being pulled out of sink made him wince...and he watched as Sephiroth pulled the main functional core of Hojo’s cardiovascular system out of his chest cavity; scarlet blood sluicing across his fingers as he stared at the still-beating organ a moment...hefting it as if testing its weight, before tossing it to the side. The scientist in question was clearly dead; eyes rolled back...jaw hanging slack as crimson suffused his form. Mockingly, emerald irises glittered as their owner peered into the slur of ruined flesh before him...his lips curling into a smirk.

“Predictable.” He deadpanned, shaking the corpse for a moment before letting it fall to the floor with a sickening crunch. Turning to his slack-jawed companions, he raised a silver brow. “Nothing there at all.”

His son’s colleague seemed to be recovering from his shock still as Sephiroth bent down to retrieve his katana from the ground, a sneer marring his features as viridescent eyes regarded the slippery black goo that covered the length of the silvery weapon before flicking it almost clean with a practiced ease. Angeal’s blue irises were still darting between the heart strewn across the floor, the gaping wound in the center of Hojo’s chest and the back of a black coat as the aftermath of their battle kept being thrown into sharp relief before being shrouded in darkness yet again.

The sound of boots retreating in the direction the silver-haired man must have taken when they’d first arrived stopped, only for an irritated deep baritone not unlike his own to ring out. “We still have your _rebellion_ to face. Are you coming?”

This seemed to shake the raven-haired First out of his daze. Swinging his sword before attaching it to the magnet at his back, Angeal followed Sephiroth, leaving Vincent with his thoughts and the scientist that had ruined his life… his entire life for _forty-six_ years…

When Hojo had shot him all those years ago, the ex-Turk had believed that his life had been over, he’d come to terms with it during the ephemeral moments that his consciousness had lasted.

_‘Hojo! What have you done?!’_

He could still hear her voice in his ear. He’d been okay with it because he was losing his life for something that had mattered, for someone he loved. Being a Turk and doing the things they did for a living, the crimson-eyed man hadn’t really cared much about what came after their lives ended on Gaia. He liked to believe that the people important to him were all going to go to some place that was actually the exact opposite of the horrendous reality they had been living, but exercising that notion for himself was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

When he’d came to, after the numerous ‘fading in and out of consciousness’s and the dreamlike state that had been his habituality, facing the truth that he hadn’t actually died but had turned into a demon, a _monster_ along with Lucrecia being gone had made him realize that he didn’t need an afterlife to believe in when his very life had turned into a living hell.

Maybe it had been his own cowardice, his fault in not protesting when he should have had, his weakness in not being able to stand up for what he held dear and fight. Maybe, just maybe they had been both to blame… And yet, Vincent hadn’t wanted for anything, but to see her smile again; the very same smile that fled her kind features when she chose the broken man staring blankly at nothing in front of him. He had only wanted her heart which seemed to have turned to stone when she ran back inside the already cold purpling arms that had possibly picked apart _their_ son only to put him back together… as they had done with him.

Hojo had ruined his life, their lives. And even though his death might have put an end to the nightmare that could have been his future, it didn’t help turn back time and give him back the lives that had been lost, the moments that could not be relived, answer the ‘what-if’s that had been plaguing his harrowing slumber for the past twenty three years.

Turning his back on the corpse, his boots clanged against the tiles as he followed in the young men’s footsteps to leave this bizarre place. To leave it behind, as hard as it was, felt just like leaving behind a part of himself, feeling it being ripped off and yanked away by the now unmoving fingers, just as he had felt when he’d decided to leave Nibelheim behind.

Vincent had thought exacting revenge for them all might at least leave him feeling marginally good.

Instead, it had left him hollow.

* * *

Hojo was dead.

Traversing the blood-spattered, necrotic darkness of the Science Division on his way back to the lifts, Sephiroth tried to tell himself that it didn’t affect him. The man lying in a puddle of onyx and scarlet blood behind him was simply an extension of the regime he’d been raised to serve. It didn’t matter that he’d spent the majority of his time a victim to his cruelty...and his cruelty alone. And the ache in his chest wasn’t due to the sudden reality that he was _free of it;_ it was due to the fact that he’d finally avenged Genesis’ death, and the retribution of his lover’s demise was as painful as it was satisfying. He knew what he was doing, what he wanted to do. The crowd above them didn’t matter...the men behind him didn’t matter...he was going to leave and begin what Genesis had tried to start. Hojo’s death was a negligible thing, an infinitesimally small step forward.

...So Sephiroth told himself.

His battle companions caught up with him at the lift. Both older men were oddly silent, though the General sensed it was more of an apprehensive silence than an angry silence. He understood...to a degree. He could have easily used Masamune to give the scientist lying in pieces behind them a quick, merciful death. That wasn’t what he’d wanted. Hojo had never given him peace...never given him respite or rest. If there was anyone undeserving of a peaceful demise...it was him. And Sephiroth had _wanted_ to exact that pain...wanted him to-at least minimally-understand the degree of pain he’d always been in since the moment he was born. A part of him was unsatisfied with it...unhappy with the lack of satisfaction the deed had given him. He didn’t regret it, but he wasn’t thrilled with it either.

As the elevator began to move, the lights flickered as they had before until about ten floors above. The sound of the crowd was somewhat muted, and the retort of gunfire was entirely absent. Idly, Sephiroth wondered if this meant that Shinra had been successful in subduing those who were so incensed, or if Shinra was no more. To his left, Angeal seemed to vibrate with anticipation, but he was entirely disinterested. The minute they hit the ground floor, he’d be leaving. He wanted no part in what was going to happen or what had happened. His so claimed 'father’ was less exuberant; standing with his back to the wall and a blank expression he tried not to compare to his own.

They were greeted with an expectant crowd.

The only thing Sephiroth acknowledged as a relief was the fact that they were obviously waiting for word from Angeal, and not waiting to arrest them. As happy as he'd have been to kill his way out of the facility, it wasn't cohesive to his agenda. Angeal wouldn't approve of it, and as much as he wanted to tell himself otherwise, he couldn't kill his fellow First. A small, unquestionably evil part of him sneered at this weakness...but he pushed it aside. There was a time for ruthlessness and a time for temperance. For now, he would choose temperance. Most of the waiting throng were members of SOLDIER. Absentmindedly, the General noted that it seemed to be the better part of the army crowded into the cramped space; still more leaned over railings and balusters above them while others sat precariously on steel decorative support beams. He recognized some of his own men, who looked nervous upon catching his gaze, but he nodded and they instantly relaxed. Narrowing his eyes, the silver-haired soldier watched as the same medic who had spoken before stepped forward. The murmuring from the crowd ceased and he opened his mouth.

“Sir, we'd like to see things change.”

There was an uproarious cacophony of support from the crowd, but this quickly receded when Angeal raised a hand to speak, a smile playing about his lips.

“And what kind of change would you like to see, soldier?”

The recruit snapped fluidity into a salute.

“Sir! We'd like to stand for what we say we stand for; justice, honor, duty, and safety. Not _pretend_ to stand for it.”

The dark-haired First let his gaze sweep across the gathered men.

“And all of you feel the same?” He queried, raising his voice slightly. There was a unanimous cheer. Several of the younger cadets jostled each other before a slightly more composed Second swatted their ears. Despite this, Angeal was still smiling...still moving forward. And when he came to the very epicenter of the crowd...he spoke again. “I think…” He said slowly. “We should see if the President agrees with our terms.” The roar that followed this statement was louder than any of those that had come before. The few Firsts stationed on the upper floors began a hasty descent; dropping to join their comrades as they stared eagerly at their Commander. “Gather 'round, we need a strategy, where's our tactician..?”

Turning, Sephiroth hesitated but a moment before ripping the badge that identified him as a General off his uniform and handing it to Vincent, who raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't react.

“Keep it.” He said flatly. “As a memento of what you could have avoided.” Crimson eyes widened as they comprehended what he was doing, and when the scarlet-caped man made as if to protest, he tilted his head and smirked. “If you try to stop me, I'm going to cull every single worthless soul in this facility.” When Valentine looked at him incredulously, he laughed darkly. “ _Try_ me. The degradation wasn't the only reason Genesis defected you know…and I don't know what filth Angeal filled your head with, but I'm nearly as bad as Hojo. Whatever you and Lucrecia tried to create, I'm the exact opposite.”

Vincent stepped back, his face a mask of self-conflict and grief…but he didn't move to stop him as Sephiroth melted into the crowd. A few of the men made as if to speak to him, but he merely waded through them...like a silent silver shadow. Over and over, he repeated the mantra in his head he'd been reciting for the past hour; _‘None of this matters, it's not going to change anything.’_ And it wasn’t… _it wasn’t._ Looking back, Sephiroth locked eyes with Angeal, who was too far away and too inundated with the crowd surrounding him to get to him in time. Green held blue for a moment before Sephiroth dipped his head in a brief nod... turning away despite the shout at his back...the plea to return.

He traversed the floors quickly... without much thought...and before long he was standing in front of Genesis’ apartment. Palming the keycard, he hesitated but a moment before swiping it in the door. It opened with a soft, familiar beep...and the darkness beyond was almost terrifying. The silver-haired First didn't look to see if any of the redhead's belongings remained. Instead...he swept hastily through the bereft flat... through the bedroom and out onto the balcony. Here...at least... everything was somewhat the same. The view of Midgar was still as staggering and melancholy as ever.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Genesis leaning over the railing...the midday sun catching his hair as those sapphire eyes laughed tenderly in his direction…

_“Seph…”_

Clenching his teeth, Sephiroth forced the doors to his romantic recollections shut. Stepping forward, he crossed to the edge of the railing and closed his eyes. Drawing from other...darker memories he breathed in... envisioned the redhead's wing and made it cohesive with himself... with his breath, bones and blood. Something in him answered to the image...slithered forth and buried itself in his psyche...awakening muscle memory and bone structure. Pain was a red-hot wave across his back...it flashed scarlet behind his closed eyes and brought a gasp to his lips. For a moment, he acknowledged that _this_ was how much pain Genesis had been in when they argued...when they'd disagreed, when he'd-

_-Enough._

There was the sense of extended appendage, of torn fabric, of exhilarated anticipation and aviatory foreknowledge. The expanse of Sephiroth's wing was a noir silhouette against the bright sky. Climbing up onto the railing, the silver-haired soldier smiled-a little bit nostalgically-before letting himself drop…

…He rose quickly and didn't look back

And when Angeal came bursting in minutes later, the single thing left was a smattering of old blood…the howl of an aching…distant wind……all the memories…all the laughter gone… like a candle extinguished…

…and only a single black feather to indicate that they had ever been there at all.


	4. Chapter Four

Angeal had barely gotten the chance to sleep for a week.

The first step on their way to a reformed Shinra was talking with Lazard and Veld. 

The director of SOLDIER was very much partial to the idea, which had raised numerous questions and suspicions in his head, but the raven-haired First really hadn’t had time to dig deeper. Aside from that, the blond man was an individual whom you could reason with, very much unlike Heidegger and Scarlet. Ever since Genesis left them, the Commander had noticed how the whole desertion and the subsequent pressure had been affecting the director. The chief of Public Safety had been constantly breathing down Lazard’s neck by bringing out the subject of dissolving SOLDIER into infantry every time they had a board meeting. Even more so after his best friend’s defection, and if things were to stay the same, it was very much likely to happen now that Sephiroth was gone too.

Sitting on the edge of his bed in the darkness of his living quarters, the blue-eyed soldier turned the soft plume the color of starless nights in his hand, running his thumb across it before placing it gently in between the pages of the book lying beside him.

Loveless and a feather.

That was all that remained of his friends. 

The sense of crushing loneliness that suddenly overwhelmed him was enough to bring him to his knees. 

Well, technically, Sephiroth was still alive, just somewhere they didn’t know. Yet.

A bitter laugh escaped him, a sudden urge to curse Genesis as the irony of the situation became apparent to him.

_...“There are various interpretations… but I think…” The redhead was making gestures with his hands, struggling uncharacteristically to put his thoughts into words before slumping back into the couch beside a rather bored looking Sephiroth who was swirling his drink in his glass. “I think, it’s a story about three friends. One is taken captured, one flies away, and the last becomes a hero.”... _

It had earned him a ‘hmph’ from the silver-haired soldier and while Angeal had been contemplating those words, to no avail, however, the redhead had been on the verge of a ‘You dimwits don’t understand a bit about poetry’ explosion. 

The words the younger man had spoken to him almost a week ago echoed in his mind.

_ “I’m tired of being a hero… Look where it's gotten me, where it’s gotten  _ us _.”  _

Genesis was the one being captured and killed. 

Sephiroth was the one who had literally flown away… 

Angeal didn’t want to be the hero. He didn’t. By goddess, he didn’t.

Letting his head hang limply in his hands, he tried to think of the things they still had to do.

Approaching the Department of Administrative Research, otherwise known as the Turks had been somewhat dreadful. The Commander had been faced with two options; disbanding them, or keeping them as the ears and the eyes of the company. In the end, he’d gone with the latter, but not without having a rather lengthy conversation with Veld. They’d been stuck in his office from afternoon to a couple of hours shy of midnight. Even though, both of them knew that the other members of the division were eavesdropping on their tête-à-tête, once in a while being so bold as to barge in on them to state their agreement or disagreement in the case of a redheaded Turk, Angeal had managed to appeal to the older man’s sense of honor; asking him to leash in his subordinates, asking him that there be no more attempts at espionage, no more assassinations, no more dark secrets and skeletons in the closet. 

Sephiroth’s  _ father _ had accompanied him there, interjecting with comments that were curt but wisely spoken, which seemed to have actually helped persuade the dark-haired executive. When all had been said and done, Veld, too, was supporting their cause.

Everything had been a whole lot easier after that because they didn’t have to watch their back and await dead bodies to drop from every shadowed corner.

They had knocked Heidegger off the board, dissolved the infantry under a new faction of SOLDIER which made managing things actually easier. The Commander had expected bouts of disagreement, fights and eventually riots, but when Zack had suggested the infantrymen have their own leader, another First of sorts, that seemed to have pacified them. But their reform was practically a newborn. It remained to be seen if the peace was going to last.

Scarlet had been a wholly different matter though. The head of Weapons Development laid waste to yet another couple of levels of the company when they’d approached her with the choice to abdicate or joining their reform. It had been a messy fight. Not just in the sense of unnecessary blood being spilt… more like, once it was over, the floor had been crawling with neutralized robots, chunks of severed metal, several heavily injured soldiers, a giant area of demolished building structure where the blond woman had tried her newest invention, a robot armor of sorts which seemed that it hadn’t been thoroughly tested because it had malfunctioned only for Scarlet to push it for more and more until it exploded.

The head of the failed Space program had been sweating profusely when they’d found him in a  _ bagnio _ in the Slums. From the way Palmer had been eyeing the reception desk-and had nearly fled the building if it hadn’t been for Zack and the other soldier, the  _ medic _ , Angeal had brought along-the mostly bald man had been very much likely to suggest finding himself a boulder somewhere and disappearing beneath it. But when the blue-eyed Commander had actually managed to get through the man’s hysteria to tell him that they were  _ not _ going to get rid of him, that given luck-if their new regime actually lasted-they might as well revive the program, he’d been more than willing to accompany them back to Shinra.

Upon their arrival, the President’s reign had promptly ended.

The corpulent man had been accompanied by several members of Turks, escorting him to a black car they had seen at the entrance of the headquarters, followed closely by Veld. They had locked eyes, a vengeful sneer crossing the former President’s features before he’d started attacking Angeal, all the while spewing obscenities at him and accusing him of dooming them all. Thankfully, the other occupants of the spacious lobby had been levelheaded enough not to have reacted to those words, because the raven-haired man had never really wanted the President dead… as much as he’d been the one giving the A-okays to the most horrendous things to have ever happened on the face of the planet… to the projects conceiving them, to Sephiroth’s isolation and prolonged torture, to Genesis’ death… But killing him wouldn’t do them any good. It wouldn’t bring back his friend from the dead… it wouldn’t give back the silver soldier’s lost childhood years and all the lives he could have led instead of being forced into servitude for the President’s rapacity for money and power. 

They had, although unofficially, sentenced him to life imprisonment in one of his houses in the Upper plate, confiscating the rest only to hand them to the head of Urban development. 

There wasn’t really a better decision than to place Reeve Tuesti at the head of the company to direct it in tandem with the board of executives, or what was left of it at the moment. They had all poured hours and hours on end for the numerous plans the head of Urban Development had actually spent years working on only to have to keep quiet about them because of the constant bickering for more gil in their previous conferences. It had been, by far, the most productive board meeting Angeal had participated in. Even though they had all been barely awake by the end of it, suffering cramps from sitting for so long and various degrees of headaches, it had cleared things up a bit about how they were going to proceed from now on.

And that left him here.

Satisfied with how things had progressed so far, but with no less grief he’d felt before.

Angeal hadn’t really had the chance to process what had happened in his life since Genesis’ death, except for that day in Sephiroth’s apartment, that ephemeral point in space-time continuum… as ephemeral as the silver-haired man’s presence had been that day. It had felt like the green-eyed soldier he knew was flickering in and out, like a candle in the wind, behind a tattered veil. The words he had said… the things he had done, and for him to leave like that…

There had really been no need for words.

If only Angeal had paid more attention to those azure eyes that had been somewhat red-rimmed when Genesis had come to his apartment to give him that envelope and his own copy of Loveless. 

Sephiroth’s gaze and the almost imperceptible nod of a silvery head had been enough to convey that the former General was leaving them. That he didn’t want any part in whatever plan they were hatching, that he was simply through with fighting, or more like fighting for a cause. A cause that maybe the former First class didn’t believe in. 

Angeal couldn’t help but wonder if Genesis would also leave with him if he’d still been alive. If the raven-haired man would still end up being here, alone, feeling thoroughly unsatisfied with himself, because it seemed to him that already, without actually having started anything, he was paying dearly for _ the greater good _ .

After all, life never bestowed you gifts without taking something in return.

* * *

It took him several days to reach Nibelheim. 

Sephiroth flew North and then Northwest...veering over the ocean like some great...black and despairing abomination as the waves rushed below him. The weather grew steadily less forgiving as he covered the space between Midgar and Shinra Mansion, but it didn't affect him. He was distantly aware of it...of the bitterly cold air biting his cheeks, along with the frost particles digging into exposed patches of skin. It was negligible compared to his ultimate goal. He couldn't afford to give the climate undue attention, all of that was unimportant. For now, he was focused on his destination. If his thoughts strayed to what he was leaving behind, he landed briefly to engage with whatever monster he could track down. Spilling blood made distraction less virulent... narrowed his focus down to a point and replaced regret with determination. 

By the time the mansion was a dull speck growing steadily larger in his immediate vision, the residual reluctance that had haunted him after leaving HQ had dulled. It was replaced by a sort of numb acceptance. What was in the past was dismissible, he couldn't change it. What he  _ could  _ change was before him, and that was exactly what he intended to do. Touching down on the grassy expanse of lawn, the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER closed his eyes...envisioned closure...egress and confinement. In a rustle of feathers, his wing was gone; the pain of its retreat significantly less than that of its appearance. Absentmindedly, Sephiroth wondered if it got easier each time...or if the pain remained a constant. Almost immediately afterwards, he decided it didn't matter. 

Pain was inevitable.

The question-of course-was whether to submit or exact. The green-eyed man mused over the philosophy of it as he gazed up at the weathered walls before vaulting over. Nearby, there were signs of previous passage... Angeal's assumably. He forced himself to look elsewhere, to ignore the signs of his former comrade’s presence. There was no  _ ‘them’  _ anymore...no ‘honor for the sake of renown’...no SOLDIER, no glory in the battlefield. He’d always assumed that by this point, such distance would bring him peace. There was a desensitization to it, but never peace. Despairingly, Sephiroth wondered if he would  _ ever  _ have peace. Near the manor, the air seemed eerily, oddly still. Overshadowed on three sides by massive cliffs, the pillared entryway seemed more like a gaping maw than an actual doorway. Vaguely discolored and weather-worn, the building itself appeared to have seen better days, but closer inspection revealed that it was overall structurally sound. 

The door was unlocked.

Stepping into the foyer, the former General let his eyes trail over the extravagant halfway staircase that assumably led up to the bedrooms before looking elsewhere. Supposedly, the files were on the lower floors, likely below ground. As much as he wanted to dive right into them, he needed to make sure the mansion was secure, and the only way to do that was to start from the topmost level and work his way down. Rationally, he knew this was habitual, left over from years of ingrained training in terms of scouting an area before settling there...but it was still a premeditative move. It was very unlikely there was anyone there, but thoroughness had never hurt him before. It took him about two hours to discern without reasonable doubt that he was entirely alone. The upper levels of the Manor were extravagant; with silken tapestries, gold-rimmed molding and rich carpets. It was-effectively-even more lavish than the Rhapsodos mansion, and that was saying quite a bit. If he stopped to ruminate over it...the opulent, dusty extravagance of it, coupled with the obvious abandonment was just on the side of eerie. But he didn’t-stop to ruminate over it that is-so it didn’t particularly matter.

There were old security measures here and there, but all of them had either run out of power or broken in some way or another. Sephiroth ensured that they would never gain power again by taking them down and throwing them in a heap at the base of the massive staircase. By the time he reached the sublevels he was getting hungry, but he hadn’t brought anything with him, and some part of him insisted that hunger was a base instinct...something he could overcome if he pushed himself hard enough. The lower levels of the mansion were entirely different from the part of the house designed for residents. Here there were boxes filled with various scientific items...massive laboratories and a library that was staggering in its enormity. Upon stumbling on it, the silver-haired man immediately wanted to tear it apart to see what he would find, but he forced himself to push forward for the sake of thoroughness.

He found his father’s coffin.

It wasn’t hard to separate it from the others lounging about. Despite only being around him for what amounted to a few hours, Sephiroth was still able to separate the gunslinger’s scent from the others that lingered about the dark...musty place. That and the fact that there were several long, dark hairs lying at the bottom. He stood staring at it for a few minutes, resentfully trying to figure out why  _ anyone  _ would choose this over their own child before breaking the wooden corpse-vessel into tiny pieces and going on his ‘merry’ way. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to see him ever again. There were further indications of Angeal’s presence; a half-empty container here, a wrapper there. Instinctively, the former soldier hunted around for a little bit before finding a discarded drawstring bag filled with ration bars and four water bottles. His inspection finished, the green-eyed man made his way back to the library as he chewed on one of them; the bag slung over his shoulder. He tried not to associate it with his former comrade, but it was difficult when he was very obviously eating his discarded supplies...thrown hastily to the side upon news of the Genesis copy.

Most of the books were dismissable.

Thick, dusty tombs filled with old concepts for trade and negotiation prior to Shinra’s takeover; maps of Gaia and old theoretical diplomacy philosophies. These made him snort, because  _ diplomacy  _ was a thing of fantasy when it came to Shinra and the regime it represented. Other books were less clear; there was an entire section filled with detailed accounts of scientific research. Most of it was illegal, some of it was sickening. There were subjects before them, of course...individuals with dark, dull, and despairing eyes staring out from laminated paper as if begging to be remembered...some of them were heinously young. It was very clear that he, Genesis, and Angeal were the first infant test subjects. He supposed-in a macabre sort of way-he ought to have been grateful that the Science Division had at least somewhat guaranteed the success of their experiments before moving on to neonatal testing. 

He wasn’t. 

Genesis and Angeal’s information was fairly easy to find. It was strange to read about his former comrades in such a detached, clinical sort of way. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that whoever wrote the books would have had to have that sort of mentality. You couldn’t experiment on infants and unborn children with an affectionate mindset. He felt distinctly sorry for Gillian Hewley; because it was very obvious she had been put in a terrible situation with very few options. The few pages detailing her had obviously been read several times; they were dog-eared and somewhat oily from the big but good-hearted fingers that had perused them before. Sephiroth didn’t let himself dwell on it too long, especially when the memories of his time in the Hewley house began to resurface. He couldn’t afford to go there, not now. Genesis’ files were less clear, particularly those of his parents. It was painful to read about him...particularly because the redheaded, handsome-faced individual staring out from the pages was gone...buried for quite some time. Hollander hadn’t been as scrupulous about detailing the scarlet-haired soldier’s past...there were gaps in his timeline he couldn’t close with logical reasoning. It appeared-to all intents and purposes-that the blue-eyed First’s mother had been very young, very naive...and she was very dead.

He stumbled upon his files purely by accident.

Seven days into his search and he hadn’t found anything indicative of his project. The idea of it was disheartening...and a little bit frustrating because Angeal had insisted his files were there. Sephiroth pulled his information off a shelf between a book about economics and another about agriculture. It appeared to have been stuffed there hastily; as if whoever had been reading it couldn’t bear to look at it anymore and had simply discarded it without thought. It took him a while to open it. Truthfully, he’d sunk down onto the floor in a cross-legged position and stared at it for an hour before even cracking the cover. Unhappily, he acknowledged that there was a part of himself that was very afraid of knowing the details of his origins...of his past. He didn’t know why, but he was equally angry at himself for such cowardice. Because he could not afford cowardice or reticence here...not when he’d come so far and looked for so long. Gazing down at the dusty, decrepit tome in his lap...he wished that Genesis was there...that he would just  _ appear  _ and say something. Something comforting or sarcastic, even something hateful that would distract him from what he was about to do. Because he was accosted with the distinct sensation that when he took this final step, there would be no going back. 

He opened the book to stare directly into Jenova’s face.

Almost immediately, he was suffused with a feeling of disgust and horror. Because she was  _ not human.  _ Those violet, luminescent eyes were distinctly ethereal...extraterrestrial and beautiful in a way that was utterly monstrous. Her mottled, dusky purple-grey skin was at once seamless and yet corrupt...seething in its distinct absence of natural pigment. They shared the same hair. Reaching up to touch the aforementioned, endless silver locks...Sephiroth shivered unconsciously even as he acknowledged the synonymity. Returning his gaze to the book, he tried to rationalize the mass of fleshy redness behind her as a form of life-support, but he knew it was unlikely. Likewise, he couldn’t fathom the purpose of the appendage protruding out of her abdominal cavity but he was sincerely grateful he didn’t have it. Swallowing, panic rising up with unstoppable intensity, he turned the page…

...And came face to face with a silver-headed, plum-eyed infant. 

He dropped the book. Really,  _ threw  _ it would have been a better term. Rising, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and gritted his teeth. Inside him, two distinctly different factions of sanity waged a virulent war. What remained of his logical deduction insisted that this didn’t matter...that it didn’t change who he was. He’d told Genesis the same thing when he’d discovered he was adopted. But there was a distinct difference between discovering your parents weren’t your parents and discovering that you were a hybrid of an alien from outer space. Closing his eyes, the green-eyed former soldier tugged at a lock of hair to ground himself. No  _ wonder  _ he was so intimidating to those around him. Humans instinctively rejected and feared those that were even a little bit different from them...he’d never had a chance. Lifting suddenly heavy lids, his lips curled into a sneer. And why  _ shouldn’t  _ they fear him? They had chosen to imprison him...to enslave him to something that was nothing more than a monstrous power struggle.  _ Humans  _ had used him...used him until he had nothing left to offer, nothing left to give.

_ “And so they shall face retribution for their crimes tenfold.” _

He stumbled, tripped and landed on top of the book he’d thrown...Jenova’s face staring up at him as if mocking him. The voice that whispered in his mind was at once supplicative and commanding...driven by a purpose he couldn’t fathom as it howled in his psyche like a thousand hounds baying at the scent of spilled blood. It was impossible to tell if it was male or female; it was multifaceted and woven over by a thousand different tones, countless pitches and variations. That dark part of him...the part that had taken Genesis so thoughtlessly...the part that had ripped Hojo’s heart out of his body and left it bleeding on the floor...it rose to greet it...embraced it in all of its entirety. Sephiroth’s mind was entrenched in the image of humanity fallen, of the planet collapsing in fire and water with nothing left but a black, seamless surface as the Lifestream rose to meet the stars in a singular, breathless and finite end. 

_ “...And what has humanity given you...my child? Nothing...nothing but grief...nothing but torment and sorrow…” _

But Angeal...Genesis...they hadn’t given him sorrow. Genesis hadn’t chosen to die, he’d had no choice...and Sephiroth had driven him away. The fact that some of the people in his life were no longer there didn’t change the fact that they  _ had  _ been. Scrabbling, trying to pick up some semblance of what remained of his sanity, the silver-haired man reached for the book only to turn to a page with a picture of Professor Gast. His heart clenched, because he had been one of the only people to show him kindness or understanding...to comprehend that despite his singular differences he was still an individual with feelings and dreams. If there was anyone that deserved to be called a father figure in his life, it would be him. 

_ Professor Gast was the pioneer of the SOLDIER initiative, the discoverer of Subject J, and the originator of the concept of Projects G and S- _

The originator. 

_ Originator.  _

Nausea rose up in his throat. Sephiroth gagged and got up to stumble away; was violently sick in a nondescript trash bin. Despite what little he’d eaten in the past few days, it felt as if he was expelling the contents of his soul. Because now,  _ now  _ he was disillusioned. Somewhere, lost in the vestiges of his memory was a little boy who had eternally looked up to Gast...placed him on a pedestal because in his mind he was better than that which he surrounded him with. Bitterly, the former General reflected that he should have known better. No one was the head of something like the Science Division without a dark past...without clearance. Maybe a part of him had always known it but chosen to ignore it. He didn’t know what was worse. The man he’d always looked up to was the entire reason that his project, that Angeal and Genesis’ projects existed. 

_ “In the end...my darling...you will discover that the species you have served so long and so faithfully will  _ **_always_ ** _ disappoint you...come to me...I won’t abandon you or disappoint you.”  _

In the end, he knew it was Jenova who was calling him. The part of him that resisted her was weak...was reluctant to exist at all. Because now he didn’t have any excuse for remaining as he was, for being a neutral facet to that around him. For days he resisted; curled up in a massive bed in a high tower of the Mansion...staring listlessly at empty windows as her summons grew stronger and stronger in his mind. He tried to keep her away, tried to tell himself that what he would be walking into wasn’t worth it...but what did he have left? Genesis was dead. Angeal was choosing to reform a regime that would be no better than the first. If he could stop him before he got too far, maybe he could convince the dark-haired First to join him. 

He held out for a week. 

On the morning of the seventh day, he woke with renewed purpose. Rising, Sephiroth clipped Masamune to his belt and set to work turning off the electrical grid to the mansion. In the back of his mind, Jenova was a siren...summoning him with what he suspected was every ounce of her strength. He left the rations and water behind, knowing instinctively that he wouldn’t need them. Gathering up the files regarding himself and his former comrades, the silver-haired man placed them on top of the pile of surveillance equipment and left to find some matches and several containers of gasoline. This he trailed throughout the mansion; systematically, methodically, calmly. Until the smell of it was nearly enough to drive him out of the massive building without finalizing his intended purpose...but he resisted. 

Sephiroth then set Shinra Manor on fire.

The sight of the structure engulfed in flame was oddly satisfying. As he spread his wing on the front lawn and shook out the pinions, the green-eyed former soldier reflected that Genesis would probably have appreciated it. And as he took to the skies he was singularly aware of a dark-suited, observant presence at his back; silhouetted against the flames as it watched him fly Northward...towards the summons. He ignored it, already set in his purpose...too preoccupied to turn around and deal with whoever had been watching him. Soon, none of that would matter.

Nibelheim was dismissable...at first. Gazing down at the rows of quaint...rustic little houses dotted with snow...Sephiroth reflected that it would be easy to simply swoop down and raze it to ruins. Almost immediately afterwards, he pushed the thought to the side only to have it come rushing back. After all...weren’t the beings sequestered in their tiny, insignificant dwellings the same species as those who had caused him so much grief? Frowning, the silver-haired man tried to rid his mind of the idea...but he couldn’t. He’d be doing them a  _ favor  _ by ending their lives before they could cause others pain. There was enough pain in the world already. Something in him purred contentedly at the thought, rose up ravenous, slavering and bloodthirsty as he wheeled about, halfway to the reactor before he changed his trajectory and sped back the way he’d come. The little, dotted figures on the streets became steadily larger, grew until they were more than dismissable specs and were now faces, faces that twisted with horror and disbelief as he descended like a black angel wrought from nightmares; torn from an iron-grey sky to lay waste to the patheticness below him.

It was ruinous.

It was  _ glorious. _

Sephiroth drowned in it...in the symphony of the dead and dying; swung Masamune like an arc of enraged judgement into fragile bodies that crumbled before him, heedless of their cries for mercy. Men, women, children...it didn’t matter. They were all the product of a sinful equation, of lust and greed and mercilessness. Now  _ he  _ chose to be the propagator of mercilessness, the ferryman of death, the onyx...parted wave between mortality and endless slumber. Blood was a tapestry against pearly snow, scarlet droplets melting crimson-colored streaks; steaming in the chilly air as he painted ivory with violent, riotous red. Distantly, he was aware that he wasn’t alone, that his actions had drawn the attention of what appeared to be a young man with spiky blond hair. He was short-statured and slight, obviously a local...but he had a sword in his hand and a fierce look upon his visage.

Blue eyes narrowed with determination as the blonde dropped into a fighting stance, drawing his narrow blade and circling him with what the former General supposed was supposed to be a threatening manner. Around them, the town was ablaze; the screams of the tortured rose into the air only to be snatched away by the wind. Civilians rushed back and forth...some irreversibly burned, stumbling from raging structural infernos to collapse in lifeless heaps on the ground. Children wailed for their parents, standing in empty streets like miniscule, helpless phantoms. For a moment, Sephiroth felt strangely akin to the man before him...as if they’d known each other for eons only to end up here, in a culmination of singular events that neither of them could control. As quickly as the feeling came, it passed. And when the youth charged, he didn’t hesitate.

Blood spattered across his cheeks; wrought from a torn jugular. 

There was a strangled, muted gurgling noise and the sound of a body hitting the already scarlet-soaked snow. He didn’t turn to see if his job was finished. He didn’t need to. Green eyes surveyed the carnage around him...calculating the number of deaths incurred with a practiced, detached focus. ...It was enough...for now. Jenova’s summons was still thrumming through his veins, and when he took to the sky...he neither cared nor regretted the number of lives he had taken. They were nothing. Worthless. Less than he was.  _ Less than they were.  _ It seemed like mere seconds before he reached the reactor, landing with careful precision and observing the scenery around him; mountainous, with jagged cliffs and staggered, upward-thrusting rock formations that were just on the side of bizarre. Here the wind howled continuously, like a monstrous beast shivering among the mountains as it bellowed its rage to the heavens.

He cared not.

The door to the reactor exploded inwards, caved under the weight of Masamune as he swept through. Around him, the previously-dim lights brightened automatically at his ingress. His boots made a hollow, metallic sort of noise as he stepped over grated flooring; gazing up a steep set of stairs to a porthole door with the name  _ ‘Jenova’  _ emblazoned in an arc over the top. Vaguely, he was aware of the distant sound of choppers heading his way, but they were too late. There was nothing of him to salvage and he would not be captured and enslaved again. Ascending, Sephiroth leaned forward to press his forehead against the cool metal at the summit of the stairs, a sense of terrible anticipation, of finality making him weak at the knees. 

_ “At last…” _

This door met the same fate as the entrance, though he did it with far more care...so as not to damage the individual housed within. Stepping through, he was accosted with a split-second sense of foreboding; it shook him to his core, left him trembling as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. 

_ “Don’t be afraid.” _

There was the screech of metal as Sephiroth tore away the casing that housed Jenova, threw it to the side in a crumpled heap and gazed up at what the fearful called  _ ‘The Calamity From the Skies.’  _ He saw nothing of the sort. Staring at the being before him...at her violet eyes and spidery hair, at the soft part of her lips and the slope of her jaw...Sephiroth saw only one thing… And as he placed his hands on the tank containing her and bowed his head there was the sense of completion, of an ache in his chest that had remained empty for so long being filled. Looking upwards, Sephiroth smiled...relieved, complete and singularly happy.

“We meet at last...mother.”

And as he spoke...as he drank his fill of what was before him...the edge of a sword was pressed against his neck.

A strange feeling washed over him, some form of kinship, of understanding and wanting to be understood suddenly being overwhelmed by a staggering amount of disbelief, and it all happened in a split second, somewhere inside his head. It was some kind of presence, masculine, filled with a warmth and kindness that brushed against the shores of his consciousness a lot like what he used to feel when around Ge-

A door was slammed shut on that thought, because now wasn’t the time to get distracted when his purpose was singular and right in front of him.

Irritatedly, Sephiroth acknowledged that it was Angeal. He tried to understand why he was irritated, because vaguely, he could remember wanting to persuade the raven-haired First to join him in his path. But the older man’s sense of honor and justice wouldn’t condone the fact that only minutes ago, Masamune was covered to the hilt with  _ innocent _ blood.

The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER scoffed inwardly at the idea. None of those people were innocent when their existence was the cause of so much pain. They were guilty, all of them, for just existing as the ignorant weaklings they were. He’d really helped erase their taint from the surface of this planet. Gaia and the Goddess Genesis so used to cherish and worship should be grateful.

“Sephiroth, what’s gotten into you?” Angeal’s voice was filled with astonishment, and the green-eyed soldier really didn’t need to turn around to see the deep frown etched in the older man’s brow. He did though, turn his head a little as much as Buster Sword pressed against his neck allowed him to, regarding the blade with a frigid sort of detachment, his pale features schooled into perfect neutrality.

No, he wasn’t going to be able to convince the man standing behind him to join his cause. The raven-haired First was simply too enmired in his notions of morality, of right and wrong and doing everything by the book that a dark steadily growing part of him wanted to sneer and look down at him. Because how could one be so naive, so narrow-minded in their beliefs… For the blue-eyed Commander behind him to have Jenova’s-... _ Mother’s _ cells inside him was an absolute waste.

Instead of bothering to answer, Sephiroth merely jerked himself away; catching the edge of the blade with his leather-clad palm and pushing it in the opposite direction. At the same time, he executed a precise backward kick that rotated with him as he swiveled his body in the direction of the exit. Angeal slid a few feet backward, likely surprised, but unharmed. His stance didn’t falter however, and the silver-haired man acknowledged that whatever conversation might happen between them, there wasn’t much of a point. He wouldn’t be able to sway him, and Genesis’ childhood friend would never be able to kill him. The only individual who’d ever been able to come close to his equal in battle was dead...along with his smile, his sapphire eyes and the brilliance that spilled forth before him. Sephiroth was done looking for brilliance. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t exist. The only thing that existed now was his purpose.  _ Their purpose.  _

Tilting his head, the silver-haired man noted that Zack was not far behind. He couldn’t see him, but he could hear him, could hear the rapid rise and fall of his breath, the noise of his boots on grated metal. Inwardly, the green-eyed former soldier smirked. As if  _ the puppy  _ was going to even out the odds. The voiceless snicker that reverberated inside his skull was wholly unfamiliar, vicious and anticipatory. Sephiroth realized-with very little surprise-that there was a part of him that had already resigned itself to the subsequent battle. More than that, however, was the fact that that part of him  _ wanted  _ it; didn't particularly care if he shed the blood of the man in front of him or the runt outside. Because they were the enemy...they had chosen to defend humanity. Humanity was a  _ plague.  _

“I'll give you a choice.” He purred. “Join me, or die.”

And, really...it was a false supplicative. The minute his former comrade outlived his usefulness, he would be disposed of. Angeal couldn't see past emotionalism to the verity of existence. He wasn't fit to fly with them, he’d only taint their bloodline. It would be a good death, Sephiroth decided idly...a hero’s death. Just as the dark-haired First would want it. They could fight to the death if he so chose...so long as he didn't hinder him now, it didn't particularly matter. His ‘protege’ would have to go, of course. There was nothing remotely special or remarkable about him. The former General had never considered Fair unduly clever or particularly resourceful. No...Zack would have to go. 

Angeal looked at him with wide sky blue eyes, and the expression on his face was one Sephiroth had never seen, at least not directed at him. 

Betrayal.

And underneath that, the silver-haired man was privy to see the very same understanding as if the older soldier was seeing exactly what was passing through his head. It reminded him of the very same scrutinizing yet kind eyes in a quiet town with rolling emerald hills. 

The grip around Buster Sword faltered momentarily and the former General was accosted with a sudden urge to strike, to not give the man time to recover from whatever that was going on inside him. But despite everything that had happened, and everything that was yet to come, Sephiroth respected his opponent.

A part of him jeered at him for trying to cling onto the very last shreds of morality that were still remaining in him, but the logical part of him -even though it was shrouded with a permanent darkness that had firmly established its roots within him- reasoned that the silver-haired man was far more superior to be worried about such trivial matters, and rightfully so.

It seemed that Angeal finally recovered himself, raising his blade slightly, the lines on his face deepening as a grim look settled over his features, making him seem older than he actually was. “It’s not really much of a choice, is it? Only the illusion of a choice. Are you so far gone that you don’t know me anymore?” Pressing his lips into a tight line, the dark-haired First regarded him with equal amounts of grief and disappointment.

The appeal to his humanity...that much he'd expected. Even as a small iota of him quailed at the idea of hurting the man before him, he felt his lip begin to curl into the vestiges of a sneer before he shoved his emotions away from him. There was no point in catering to useless barter; it only gave the enemy room for weakness...for manipulation. Hewley had chosen. Far be it him that would force him to go back on that choice. He didn’t want disloyal pawns...pawns always caught between right and wrong...good and evil. Everything humanity did seemed to be sequestered to such definitions, it seemed so limiting. No, he didn’t have room for conflicted souls. Lifting his head, Sephiroth let his hair slide over one shoulder, smirking as he let his hand drift to Masamune’s hilt. Angeal stiffened but he ignored it, fingering the heft of it before jerking it halfway out of its sheath in a hiss of steel. The older man stiffened, appeared to jump forward somewhat before realizing the green-eyed former soldier had called his bluff. The chuckle that spilled from Sephiroth’s lips was as soft as velvet...dark as night, tinged red at the edges with a kind of smoldering neurosis...stygian and formidable. As it died away he raised his free hand, lifted the forefinger to shake it back and forth as a ‘tsking’ noise tumbled from his mouth.

Sephiroth lunged.

Angeal went flying.

Vaguely, he heard Fair’s cry of surprise and incredulity as they both regained ground at the top of the stairs; as their swords clashed in a kind of maddened...interlocking waltz that was the impact of steel on steel. A dance, pivoting, cavorting…over rails and across the yawning gap that led to the bubbling pool of mako below. Green light flared in front of three faces...one learning, one lamenting...one lost. Electric wiring exploded in a hail of sparks as the massive heft of the Buster Sword slammed into a console and was wrenched free; the tanks holding the abominations that had come before them spilled forth in a slurry of mako and preservative fluid. They swept across it...waded in the refuse of their forebearers like haunted, empyreal heralds of greatness brought to ruin. Sephiroth reveled in it, bathed in the scorching fire of combat only to return frenzied-forward-and the blow he landed next knocked his former comrade to the side; blood spilling from a hair-thin swipe across his cheek. Angeal faltered, those blue eyes widened as he seemed to realize that this was the end of all the things he had ever known...ever dreamed of. 

The despair in his eyes might have torn Gaia asunder if the earth had a heart at all.

A rustle at his back gave Sephiroth pause, and he ducked just in time to avoid Zack's sword as it traversed the space his head had been moments before. Reverting his focus to his original target, the former General noted that Hewley looked anguished at his trainee’s transgression. He smirked. Well. Whirling, the green-eyed man executed a series of sharp uppercuts that had Fair stumbling back, blocking frantically. At the base of the stairs, the youngest of them stumbled and nearly fell. Angeal was frantic in his quest to subvert his focus, but Sephiroth was versed in the way the older man team-tagged a single opponent. He'd taught The Puppy the same tactics he and Genesis employed in so many of their duels, and he knew exactly how to move to deflect both of them. 

Then he struck. 

Lulling the duo into a rhythmic security was easy. The silver-haired man made his moves predictable and easy to follow...parry-to-parry...step-to-step until the eldest of the trio had his back to the stairs, his face a mask of focus. Bracing his right foot on the grating, Sephiroth twisted so that Fair’s sword sailed into empty space; at the same time, he heaved himself forward, thigh, arm, boot and sword heft pushing the more formidable of his adversaries outward...upward. The door to Jenova's chamber became a gaping hole as Angeal smashed into it; flew further into the glass of the tank, which shattered upon impact. Zack made a horrified, pained noise but Sephiroth ignored it, vaulted upwards and into the inclosed space to land just shy of his former comrade, sweeping forward to grasp his mother's head and pull it from her shoulders. Hewley took a ragged breath, pulled himself to his feet and stared at him with a tortured expression. 

Following the line of those ever saddened blue eyes, the silver-haired man could see Buster Sword’s hilt held firmly but in a trembling hand. There was the smell of blood, of his own and looking up for a moment, at those strong features and disheveled onyx locks which were dripping lazily with dark carmine droplets. 

Agony bloomed in his torso, white-hot, searing, scorching and all-encompassing, the connection between neurons disrupted and instead there was the thick yet pointed blade of Angeal’s sword lodged in his abdomen. Now, Sephiroth understood the reason behind the anguish he’d seen in the older man’s face only moments ago.

The sight of the dark glowing rivulets of hemoglobin running down the steel of the broadsword was not at all dissimilar with how his lifeblood flowed just as freely in Hojo’s lab. A gasp passed his lips as the raven-haired soldier pushed forward, forcing him to stagger backwards before his opponent wrenched his blade free, towering in front of him as Sephiroth dropped to his knees. 

It was impossible.

Through the sea of pain that was addling his brain as his body attempted to mend itself, the former General heard the shuffle of footsteps before he was yanked upwards, Masamune clattering out of his fingertips to teeter dangerously close to the brink of the endless pit glowing with mako. His back was slammed against a wall as his once second-in-command held him up by his collar. 

Still friendly, still trying to reach out to that human part of him that was long dead and gone. It made him want to throw his head back and laugh despite the burning sensation that washed over him yet again, his dangling above the ground putting more strain on the gaping gash in his midsection.

Blue irises were searching his, just as Genesis’ had been that day when-...

“If Genesis was still here, would you still have done the same? Would you make him bleed just as easily if he were here to oppose you?” The deep voice was strained, hoarse with barely concealed and contained emotions.

And Sephiroth grinned. 

His lips stretched over bloodstained teeth as a guttural laugh spilled from his mouth. Once he started, he couldn't stop... couldn't control the riotous mirth that flowed forth until it seemed to encompass the entirety of the space. Leaning forward as much as he could...the former General sobered somewhat, his expression predatory... vacant of the man who had been before. 

“ _I already made him bleed._ ” He hissed. Blue eyes widened, confusion encompassing proud features as the green-eyed man continued. “Why do you think he tried to kill himself?” He chortled. “Because he was _dying?_ Genesis wasn't a coward. _No_ , he did it because I _took_ him...took him prone and broken and weeping because he was going to _leave._ ” He twisted his head and spat on the floor. “Humans are all worthless...they all leave. You’re just like him...he betrayed me, you’ve betrayed me.”

The hold on his collar pressed against his trachea, Angeal’s fist clutching tighter and the leather of his lapels creaked before the raven-haired First brought him closer somewhat, enough that Sephiroth could feel the puffs of the older man’s breathing turn ragged as rage and disbelief rose up in blue eyes yet again, his voice a dangerous hiss. “You did  _ what _ ?” 

“I  _ raped _ Genesis.” Sephiroth purred, drawing out the initial vowel, letting his lips emphasize the voiceless bilabial stop. “Is that clear enough for you, Commander?” He sneered. “Or should I say,  _ General? _ ”

The punch that collided with the side of his face was enough to send him careening to the floor, only for Angeal to descend upon him and repeat the process until Sephiroth was grinning at him bloodied, with a broken and profusely bleeding lip and a fractured nose. “ _ He  _ **_loved_ ** _ you! _ ” The dark-haired First spat in his face, his voice riddled with the tremendous amount of anguish and rage that was twisting his features. 

_ “Don’t listen to him.” _

_ “You motherfucker…” _

_ “Don’t listen to him.” _

_ “I  _ **_loved_ ** _ you.” _

“ _ This. _ Is for Genesis.” With the snarl, the soon-to-be General hoisted him up very much in the same fashion he’d thrown Genesis on their bed that day, before kicking him square in the chest with enough force to hurl him over the edge. 

Sephiroth didn’t have time to reflect.

As air hurtled past him; shot through with luminescent greenish blue light...he could only think of one thing...pain. The pain of betrayal, of loneliness, of wondering if he would ever be loved and accepted like everyone else around him seemed to be. Sephiroth thought of the pain of living, of acknowledging the limitless gap between himself and others...of how Genesis had bridged that gap with an ease that left him breathless. Of how he had destroyed that bridge, shattered it hatefully, carelessly...without a thought in the world to the price. And the price was heinous. As the roiling, raw power of unprocessed mako closed over him; burned into the very essence of his flesh and bone, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even thought about opening his wing. And as the emerald tide of the Lifestream rose...curled around him only to toss him to the brinks of eternity and pull him back...his last thought was a singular phrase...a phrase that seemed to echo across the spaces between the living and the dead; caught on the shores of effervescence like a single bright star burning in the depths of space before going out. Wrought in rage, in agony, caught in a chain of boiling memories woven from the tapestry of time...it spilled across the desolate sands of his psyche...and embedded itself in his soul...

_ ‘....Nothing shall forestall my return.’  _


	5. Chapter Five

The caret was blinking on the monitor. Angeal had been staring at the bright screen in the utter darkness of his room for so long that his eyes-even with their mako enhancements-saw only black when he looked away.

Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, he ignored the dampness clinging to his lashes. Because how did they end up like this…

Behind him, on the far right wall next to his bed, Masamune was sitting on its mount, Rapier perched a little higher.

When did he start collecting stuff that his friends had left behind…

The thought tugged down the corners of his lips, pretty much in the same fashion they had since that day. Since they’d tried forcing him onto a stretcher and Angeal had nearly mutilated a group of Seconds to make them leave him alone in his grief-laden rage. He’d been aware that there was a puncture wound in the back of his head; Sephiroth’s attack had been so vicious that the thick shatterproof glass of the tank had crumbled like a house of cards upon impact. He’d been aware of the few wayward shards protruding from his uniform at his back; but he had needed that pain, he had needed it to make him forget the gaping wound in his chest. Because he had, with his own two hands, plunged his comrade, his friend into a pit of roiling mako, to his death… The very friend he’d have given his life for without question…

What happened to their friendship? To their loyalty…?

And for Sephiroth to say that he’d… that he’d-...

Even after bringing his anger upon the poor practice dummies in the VR room for the umpteenth time… his hands balled into fists just with the thought of it. Angeal just couldn’t understand why and  _ how _ the silver-haired man could’ve looked so happy when he’d talked about it, how gleeful, as if it had been a feat, an accomplishment worthy of praise… And poor Genesis… His dear broken childhood friend… Why hadn’t he said anything… But then again, why would he… 

The painful hold in his hair brought him marginally out of his well of wallowing.

They had brought the remains of Jenova back with them, liquefied it into the basic form of cells to be assessed and evaluated. Though the labs-like it had been-was no more, there were still several lab assistants who had been fortunate enough to be in the security of their homes when Hojo had gone berserk. 

They’d also neutralized the monsters they’d freed during their fight at the reactor in Nibelheim, and ever since more work had been underway to reinstate the town for the remaining inhabitants and those who had managed to survive Sephiroth’s onslaught. The reactor itself, too, was in need of repairs.

Angeal had tried helping around the small town as much as he could, but the moment they’d been able to spare a chopper, he’d left Nibelheim without the intention of ever returning. Ever. He’d thrown himself into work, training, and reform back at the headquarters, but distraction could only get you so far. And there was also the fact that he had to inform Sephiroth’s next of kin about his…

He’d been about to do the same thing for Genesis only to have a letter from his mother,  _ Gillian _ , informing him that the mayor and his wife had been murdered. The news had come as yet another shock, and while they had sent Turks to investigate, albeit a bit too late, the raven-haired First hadn’t been able to stop thinking that there was simply nothing left of the extravagance and renown of the Rhapsodos family. No heir to inherit their abundant wealth and to continue their legacy. No one. Nothing. 

His mother had also asked about his redheaded friend and Sephiroth, asking if they’d be back for another visit, and it had taxed him a surprising amount of willpower to stand upright when he’d read that part of the letter…   


Angeal hadn’t written her back yet. He didn’t have the heart to tell her what had befallen them, what remained of their once indestructible tight circle of friendship.

He still had trouble comprehending that two of the most strong people on Gaia were already gone.

In all honesty, he didn’t know what to write.

He was at a total loss for words.

Just as he was now.

Taking a look at the digital clock on his screen showed that he’d been writing this email for the past one and a half hour.

The recipient was none other than the silver-haired man’s father. 

When Veld had failed rather miserably at persuading the ex-Turk to join their ranks yet again -which in Angeal’s opinion had been a mistake-Reeve had approached Vincent, or Mr. Valentine -the Banoran mused-with the idea that they could use his ‘expertise and keen eye for inspecting and overseeing the regeneration of the towns outside Midgar’. The moment those words had come out of Shinra company’s newly appointed President, the blue-eyed First had voiced his rather eager agreement despite the man in question’s dismay. 

Angeal figured that the man was more or less inclined toward the idea himself, because it would have taken more than the small entourage of the executives, he and Zack to get the ex-Turk on the helicopter along with the other members of the WRO branch of Urban Development. 

The caret was still flickering on the white blinding screen as if mocking him.

Placing his fingers on the keyboard, he began typing.

_ Dear Mr. Valentine _

_ As the General of Shinra’s army, I regret to inform you of the untimely-... _

It took Angeal exactly another thirty minutes to be able to write the next word.

_ Dear Mr. Valentine _

_ As the General of Shinra’s army, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your son, Soldier First Class, General Sephiroth-... _

Should he use Valentine for Sephiroth’s last name? Running a hand through his hair and exhaling a vehement sigh, he decided that he’d go with Sephiroth, no last names.

_ Dear Mr. Valentine _

_ As the General of Shinra’s army, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your son, Soldier First Class, General Sephiroth. He died on 29 December 2000, at Nibelheim, because… _

_ ‘Because I threw my own friend inside a mako reactor… to save humanity.’  _ An empty bitter chuckle rang out in the otherwise quiet room. It was laughable. Pathetic. Who does that? Had there really been no other way? Simply no other way to change the outcome so Sephiroth would still be alive?

_ “I’ll give you a choice… Join me, or die.” _

_ “Humans are all worthless...they all leave.” _

Why did he kill the civilians of Nibelheim? Why did he do that to the man he had claimed he loved? Angeal wished he could go back somehow… to try and talk the younger man out of it. If not that, try and understand him, to reason with him. 

Cradling his face in his hands, he tried to suppress a groan of resignation.

If he had been stronger, if he had been a better friend for both of his comrades, he could have tried to save them both.

Looking at his hands, he couldn’t help but feel that they were dyed with both Sephiroth’s and Genesis’ blood… and no matter what reasoning, no matter what vein of logic he could come up with to excuse his own shortcomings, it wouldn’t help rid his conscience of the staggering amount of guilt he felt.

Vincent deserved to know the truth.

To know who had murdered his son.

_ Dear Mr. Valentine _

_ As the General of Shinra’s army, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your son, Soldier First Class, General Sephiroth. He died on 29 December 2000, at Nibelheim, because I, Angeal Hewley, Soldier First Class, hadn’t been able to restrain him. Overcome by anger, I forewent all logic and threw my comrade-in-arms into the heart of Nibelheim mako reactor. In regards to your need for questions and further detail, if you so wished, you may call the office of the Director of SOLDIER or my number below. I know these words convey no meaning coming from your son’s murderer but please accept SOLDIER’s deepest condolences. _

_ Angeal Hewley, Major General, SOLDIER _

He didn’t even reread the email to check for errors.

He pressed send.

* * *

Vincent Valentine didn’t think that life had ever been easy for him. 

Standing below the tower in the middle of Kalm, the dark-haired gunslinger was motionless, staring outwards at the empty cobblestoned square with something that felt like lead weighing down his entire being. Above, the stars were winking coldly in the sky...pale pinpoint backdrops to the equally frigid moon. At this time of night no one was about the streets, and he preferred it that way. 

His days were filled with reconnaissance; with his duties to a company he’d sworn he’d never serve again. Over and over, the red-eyed ex-Turk had told himself that this was different, that what he was doing was positive and not negative. It was hard to agree with that viewpoint when everything he’d ever known about SOLDIER and Shinra was terrible, heinous, and hurtful. 

He’d been-effectively-all over the map since he’d agreed to Reeve’s proposal. Junon, Mideel, Costa del Sol. It was interesting to see how the world had changed during his time asleep. The populace was mostly the same; driven by technology, driven by Shinra...but the faces were different. Vincent couldn’t say that he was unhappy or happy to see Veld. They had a lot of history, but he couldn’t conscience what the Turks had allowed to happen to him...what they allowed to happen to others on a day-to-day basis.

He was rather shocked by how little the Division had changed, how they were enmired in all the regulations that he’d hoped might have changed at least a little bit while he slept. He knew that deep down, some small part of his Turk loyalty remained. The instinct to agree to Veld’s invitation to rejoin their ranks had been nearly automatic; knee-jerk really. It was that, more than anything, that had made him decline. Because he didn’t want to be part of that world anymore...immersed in intricacies he knew only snippets of, ferried among men who knew too much or too little. 

Most of his duties now centered around report. He spent his evenings arranging or attending meetings with city officials, logging paperwork and sending messages back and forth to Reeve or Lazard. It wasn’t what he would consider rewarding, but the travel was worth it. Vincent had forgotten what it was like to take an interest in the world; to care about how it moved forward and how those within it lived their lives. 

In some ways he felt guilty, because when he’d joined the Turks that had always been his mission...to care about others. He didn’t know if he could say that he had done that...he really doubted it. Because while he might have had an infantile vision of his goals, his employers had always dictated what they wanted out of him...and it was never kind or caring. 

He didn’t know why he’d agreed to come with Command- _ General  _ Hewley. Privately, Vincent was sure that if it had been anyone else, he’d have told them to take a hike. Angeal, however, had appealed to his honor, something he’d assumed was a long dead and forgotten practice. In different circumstances, he might have assumed it was all bluster, but the short amount of time he’d spent around the blue-eyed First was enough to tell him that his honor was of utmost importance. 

Moreover, Chaos wasn’t such a virulent presence around the younger man. Normally, it felt like the demon was just below the surface...prepared to explode at a moment’s notice...but when Hewely was around it felt like the majority of Vincent’s mind and body was purely his own...almost as if Chaos fell into a deep, contented slumber. Thinking about what that could mean was too disturbing, so he didn’t. 

_ “ ...I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your son, Soldier First Class, General Sephiroth…” _

It took every facet of his being to quell Chaos as his mind crossed over the contents of Hewely’s letter for the thousandth time. A normal father would have been on his knees at this point...doing something...something other than just  _ standing  _ there. But that was exactly what Vincent had been doing, for an hour. He’d been frozen next to the water tower for approximately two hours and thirty minutes, staring down at his phone. 

And-really-it was  _ bizarre  _ to have any kind of technology on his person. He’d forgone it for slumber for numerous years and everything about it was new and confusing. That being said, Vincent was fairly certain that emailing people about the death of a family member wasn’t exactly protocol, nor was it polite. From his vague memories remaining of his time with the Turks, he could recall that even the Intelligence Division visited family members personally.

_ “....Overcome by anger, I forewent all logic and threw my comrade-in-arms into the heart of Nibelheim mako reactor….” _

This he recognized as rationalization.

For a civilian, this might have been an admission of guilt, but he knew better. Being a Turk had taught him to look for textual nuances others might usually dismiss. Angeal’s letter was succinct and to the point...up until his statement about throwing Sephiroth into a reactor. Abruptly, the content became slightly more vague, imbued with emotion...and despite what amounted to an admission to what most would see as murder, Hewley still offered support in the form of his phone number. This told Vincent that Sephiroth’s death had been unavoidable...if not vital. He didn’t know how he felt about it...he’d only known the pale, silver-haired, green-eyed man for a mere few hours. That didn’t change the fact that he was his son...Lucrecia’s son. 

Vincent shuddered and closed his eyes. How would Lucrecia feel about her son’s death? At this point, he wasn’t sure he knew. She was so emotionally turbid in his memories...so unhappy...so desperate to make others happy. Maybe that was what had drawn him to her, his desire to see those who were hurting made whole. But he’d never been able to fix Lucrecia, never been able to reassure her enough or make her happy enough. As far as he was aware, Dr. Crescent had had mere moments with their son, and he had had none. Lucrecia had seen the back of his head as he was whisked away...that was it. It was so  _ strange  _ to feel attachment to an individual you’d never met...to look into their eyes and see yourself. 

And Sephiroth was certainly his son.

That hardness...that bitterness…it wasn’t merely borne from years of conditioning and torture. Vincent was eternally taciturn...quiet and brooding. Shinra’s finest was doomed to a quiet sort of rumination from the moment he was conceived. At the same time, the dark-haired gunslinger was aware of the fact that his son had inherited quite a few traits from his mother; her will to press forward despite all odds, her intelligence...her kindness. 

From the few stories he’d gleaned from those he surrounded himself with now, Sephiroth was ruthlessly efficient, but he was also fair. As a Turk, Vincent had been forced to double-cross people in order to get missions accomplished. This had never particularly bothered him until he woke up someone- _ something- _ he wasn’t. No, if there was anywhere where their son had gotten an ounce of benevolence...it was his mother. 

And now his son was dead.

For a moment, the world swam. And the maroon-caped man again wondered how it was possible to miss someone you hardly knew. He’d never held Sephiroth as an infant...never watched him grow up...never really taught him anything at all. The only thing he shared with the stern-faced, brilliant, and obviously tortured individual he had met was his blood. And yet, he still loved him. Still considered him a part of a family he knew he would never have… The grief that rose with this statement was nearly enough to make him succumb to Chaos. Straightening, Vincent walked out of the square and began a trek to the company truck he knew was waiting for him just on the outskirts of town. Angeal might not want to tell him about Sephiroth’s death face-to-face, but he was going to. 

At the very least, he owed him that much.

* * *

Angeal was really glad Zack hadn’t started pushing him about where his smile had disappeared to.

The newly appointed First, too, seemed shaken about the mission they had  _ accomplished _ -the raven-haired man cringed inwardly-at Nibelheim. The cheerful Second he’d decided to mentor had yet to make face, and it was really alright. They all needed time to grieve. SOLDIER had suffered loss after loss and in such a short amount of time, and to reasons no one would believe if the blue-eyed General was to sit down and tell the tales.

A bullet to the heart from a scientist.

A plunge into a pool of unprocessed mako by your second-in-command.

Ridiculous.

A grimace marred his face as he supervised the transfer of Genesis’ remaining men from Modeoheim.

Maybe, once this was over, once the reformed company could stand on its own and make true on the promises he’d given these very same men that passed him by with salutes he really didn’t deserve, he could retire himself. The thought brought him back to a sunny afternoon in a balcony tens of floors upper than where he was standing now, to a silver-haired man who’d insisted he wasn’t that old, who had just recovered himself from-what Angeal could only guess might have been-his first genuine public display of affection; to the totally obvious smile a redhead had flashed at him, to show him how madly in love he’d been.

The dark-haired First sighed.

He didn’t know what to do to rid himself of these memories that kept resurfacing with every single mundane thing he did, with some word here and there, some random place around the headquarters. Maybe he should have been the one going with those World Regenesis Organization members they’d sent Vincent with.

Speaking of the ex-Turk, Angeal hadn’t received anything from him. Later, when he’d been more cognizant and checking his emails, the General-... and he really wasn’t used to this title yet; employees and recruits kept running after him and calling him that, and the dark-haired First kept waiting for a deep baritone to answer them, for a flash of silver to appear out of nowhere only to realize  _ he  _ was the one it was being directed at. Anyway, he had realized what he’d done had been incredibly rude. It had been enough for him to want to kick himself in the shin or maybe even jump off the landing pad on top of HQ. 

On one hand, it was still a good approach because he wasn’t sure he was in the right state of mind to be able to do it in person. In his entire life, he’d never been as much of a mess as he was now, which made him wonder if he was actually useful for whatever the company needed of him at the moment; if, in fact, he wasn’t making mistake after mistake. He needed to talk to someone about it, to warn them that he was probably unfit for duty, if not unstable.

On the other hand, though, it’d been simply the worst choice. Because Vincent had barely known his son and to have his death be informed to him by an email… really to inform anyone’s child’s death by email was just… dishonorable. It seemed like he was falling short and shorter from the standards he’d set for himself with each passing day. 

Curling his hands into fists at his sides, Angeal decided to pull his act together, because while he couldn’t really do anything but mourn his lost comrades, he could at least try to do their spilt blood justice by fixing the very company that had more or less contributed to their demise. He wasn’t really the best man to do the job, but it was an oath he was taking to them, and he hoped, genuinely, that they were both at peace.

“Command-  _ General _ Hewley.” 

The deep voice made him stand somewhat more straight, halfway between snapping at attention and halfway surprised because how could he have not noticed the telltale click of the man’s boots against the ground? The blue-eyed soldier slowly turned around, dreading those red irises that were looking at him expectantly. 

Because of course, instead of him going and finding the man to apologize for his presumptuous behavior and lack of following the protocol, Vincent Valentine would come to Shinra from wherever he’d been stationed to ask for an explanation.

And Angeal had to suck it up and answer whatever question the ex-Turk had like a man. Because he owed him as much. Owed him because he’d dragged him from some nightmarish town to give him back a son he’d been waiting to see for over twenty years only to snatch him away.

“Mr. Valentine.” The blue-eyed First nodded his head, looking down at the cement ground, his expression bordering on neutral and somewhat solemn and somber. “I apologize for not informing you in person. That was a breach of protocol on my behalf.”

There was a stretch of silence, and he could feel rather than see the older man observing him. Carefully, calculatingly...as if gauging the worth of this words. It was-he realized despairingly-the same sort of thing Sephiroth would do. Careful, measured gaps in conversation were not uncommon when it came to his former comrade. It was both painful and nostalgic, the understanding that it was an inherited trait. Because that silence was as agonizing as it was familiar, and far from being repelled by it, he instead felt  _ comforted  _ by it; by the only thing familiar in a world that suddenly seemed unfamiliar. Angeal wanted to scream, to do something other than lose himself in the memories of people as they once were...as everything had been. 

“You had to do it.”

Startled, Angeal looked up, gazed into scarlet eyes that seemed to see so much and so clearly. Vincent's expression wasn't accusatory, nor was it compassionate. At the same time, he acknowledged that what the gunslinger had said was not a question, merely a statement. He also understood that as angry as he was at himself, he had already been forgiven...and not because he had done something wrong, but because there was nothing to forgive. And he shouldn't have felt so  _ liberated  _ by that realization... shouldn't have felt something ugly and agonized in his chest start to unravel because of it, but he did. It didn't bring him peace, it didn't make him miss his friends any less, but it did offer him some small modicum of relief. 

They were standing in an internal courtyard...overshadowed by the arcing hallways of HQ and the giant assembly stadium behind several sets of steel doors to the left. Velvet-sheathed balusters glittered dimly in the low light; overhung by company tapestries. He'd considered taking them down, because they didn't stand for anything he'd ever believed in. In the end, he hadn't, though not because he hadn't wanted to. No he'd left them as a lesson, to others...so he'd told Reeve...but really it was for himself. Valentine's cloak fluttered in a non-existent breeze as those long, onyx strands of hair caught at his cheek before he looked away. 

“Sephiroth wasn't... well.” Vincent said quietly. “I could tell the moment I laid eyes on him.” He seemed to sag. “No normal person is going to  _ be well _ after waking up soaked in the blood of a man who looks exactly like the only person he ever loved.” He shook his head. “No man is going to be well after two decades of torture at the hands of someone who never showed him a scrap of kindness.” Crimson irises retreated behind pale lids. “If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. For running instead of fighting for my own child. The minute I went to sleep, I ruined any chance he had at being a happy, carefree child. Sephiroth was doomed from the moment he was born.” Scarlet bored into his veins as those eyes snapped back open and pinned him in place. “It's not your fault.”

A coward facet of him wanted to believe that. The very same part that hadn’t insisted that he go on the Fort Tamblin mission that night Lazard had called him. And desperately so, because then, maybe he’d have less blood on his hands than he already did; less blame, less guilt. But no. He wasn’t going to take the easiest way out of this. He would shoulder his responsibility, no matter how staggering, and he’d do it alone if he had to. Shaking his head, it was Angeal’s turn to look away. “I have my own share of blame in this. I was with them through thick and thin for what, eight, nine years? We were a team. Unstoppable. We didn’t need any form of connection during battles… because everything just came naturally, in tandem…while we were hundreds of feet apart.” With his eyes downcast, he continued. “And yet, I really didn’t even know when they started being together. I really didn’t know when I started drifting apart from them so much that I didn’t notice them falling in love, didn’t notice how they started hurting each other. I didn’t help them… I stood powerless, and made things even worse.” And he really wanted to sit, because the idea of collapsing on the ground so it might rise up and swallow him seemed tempting with each word that passed his lips. “I suggested we all talk and that ended up giving Genesis the wound that started all of this. Sephiroth was hurting even then, withdrawing, and I didn’t know why… I _ … tried. _ But I should have tried harder. Been there more for them, been a better friend.”

The leather of his gloves creaked, and only now Angeal realized that he’d balled his hands into fists again. Only now, he realized he’d forced information on the older man which he hadn’t asked for. Which definitely added to Vincent’s pain and grief because he was getting to know a son he never had, and never will. Pressing his lips into a tight line and closing his eyes, the General looked down yet again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“If I remember correctly,” Vincent said calmly. “You told Sephiroth that he didn't always have to  _ ‘hold it in’ _ all the time.” A raven-colored brow was arched. “Maybe you should attempt to take your own advice.”

He was right.

Angeal wanted to argue, but he knew he was right. And a part of him was  _ angry _ , because he’d put his arms around a man who’d violated his best friend and  _ comforted  _ him. That was a wholly different spectrum of it; the fact that Sephiroth had done something so heinous. At the same time, the former General had been spiraling into a black hole for a long time. He’d known it when he’d spoken to him in the VR room the day that-the younger man felt himself pale-because by his calculation, if he’d  _ stopped  _ Sephiroth in the VR room....this might have never happened. If he’d taken his words at face value, if he hadn’t retreated like a  _ coward,  _ if he had just called for someone to detain the former General they might have  _ avoided  _ all this. All this pain, this death, this unhappiness-!

“ _ -Stop. _ ”

Black leather-clad hand wrapped around the blue-eyed soldier’s wrist, lingering for only the smallest fraction at his pulse-point before swiftly retreating. Valentine’s eyes were stern...firm...but understanding. There was a softness to them that Angeal didn’t exactly know what to do with. As quickly as he’d drawn near to him, Vincent stepped away...put several feet of space between them as if he’d never been there in the first place. Those golden-clawed fingertips ghosted over a velvet divider, as if reassuring himself of an anchor before he spoke again.

“I’ve spent...years…trying to repay a crime I…” He appeared to hesitate before continuing. “...A crime I didn’t commit.” Crimson eyes looked over Angeal’s shoulder, towards the stadium. “It’s difficult to separate fault from fantasy…the fantasy of wanting things to be different...of wanting to turn back time.” The gunslinger focused on him again, his expression unreadable. “Stop blaming yourself before it consumes you, like it did to me. I let it consume me until I wasn’t able to do anything at all, that’s not honorable, as you said.” Almost infinitesimally, he exhaled. “I loved Sephiroth, but I didn’t know him, not as who he really was. Don’t ruin those memories of his life because you can’t conscience his death...Genesis’ death.”

Looking at his hands as he contemplated the older man’s words, and further up where Vincent had held his wrist to bring him back, or maybe pull him up before he could drown in his well of wallowing. And he was right. Angeal knew that the ex-Turk was telling the truth. He had tried rationalizing everything before the older man had approached him only to have it all fall apart. The dark-haired First knew he had to draw a line somewhere… 

Thinking about what he’d told the crimson-eyed man standing in front of him in the basement of Shinra Manor, he couldn’t help but realize that somehow, in some way that wasn’t really understandable to him, he’d maybe gained the gunslinger’s trust? As quickly as the thought occurred to him, sky blue eyes looked up. And here he was, instead of comforting the man who had lost his son, he was the one being assured that what he’d done had been inevitable and he needed to stop beating himself over it.

“Thank you.” The older man seemed taken aback a little, his golden talons tightening minutely around the divider as a small frown settled over his pale complexion. “For trusting me back in Nibelheim; I don’t know if I’m worthy of it, but I swear on my honor I won’t let his… their deaths go to waste.” Angeal continued, and it seemed as if speaking the oath he’d taken earlier out loud helped to finalize it. It helped because, in some unknown way, he was sure that if he were to go astray, Vincent would probably remind him of what he’d sworn today. Zack would have definitely done the same, but it somehow seemed that the sentiment was more meaningful spoken to someone who was probably grieving just as much as he, if not more. “I also thank you for helping us in reforming Shinra and the world. I know how hard it must be.” The dark-haired First stepped forward, closing the distance between them, but just a little before stopping, unsure of his own motives. “Working for a company that’s brought so much upon you, living in a world that’s changed so much…” He gave a short if a little hollow laugh. “I think I’m assuming things I have no right to, but it’s starting to feel like that to me. I hope you’re enjoying the trip at least.” 

For the first time in quite a long time, or at least that’s how it seemed to him, a small smile was tugging on the corners of his lips. To hide it, the dark-haired man turned away, his hair falling forward to obscure his visage in a river of onyx. Angeal acknowledged that it hadn’t been a particularly cheerful smile, more smile of recognition...of the  _ acknowledgement  _ of recognition. It baffled him a little bit, because the man before him didn’t seem to type to hearken to praise. But maybe it was simply that Valentine appreciated being understood, even if the scales between them were slightly different. He didn’t know why that thought brought a warm, comforting feeling to his chest. The sense of contentment that settled over him was a little bit foreign...a little too easy for his instinctual liking. Vincent had always been easy to understand, even when he wasn’t saying anything at all. Most people would have been put off by it, but the blue-eyed First understood it was merely another facet of his personality. 

“I’ll have to leave soon.” Vincent said pensively and the younger man resolutely ignored the tiny,  _ insignificant  _ part of him that balked at the idea. “I left most of my work in Kalm, but I wanted to make sure you were alright.” At the last minute, the scarlet-eyed ex-Turk seemed to realize what he’d said, and Angeal had the sincere amusement of watching the palest of flushes dust high alabaster cheekbones. “Sephiroth was your friend longer than he knew I was his father.” He continued flatly, as if he’d said nothing amiss. “I know you have men to confide in, but I know it’s different talking to comrades.” He fingered the edge of his cloak. “I owe my condolences to you...more than you do to me.”

And that was difficult to process; to understand that a father was relinquishing his right to be first and foremost of the bereaved and placing Angeal there instead. He wanted to protest, to insist that the onyx-haired man was wrong, but he knew without having to think about it that Sephiroth would feel the same. The former General barely knew Vincent, and he didn't seem to take much of a caring for him regardless. He didn't know why that fact made him slightly indignant...after all, the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER had every right to be upset in regards to a father who'd slept the majority of his life away. Strangely, Angeal found that he couldn't resent him...though why exactly was difficult to say. Only that Valentine's motives hadn't been selfish... merely a little misguided. 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that a brief lapse in judgment could lead to such drastic events, but it did. It made the same thought process that had been running in his head since that day in Nibelheim resurface for a moment before Angeal shut it down. There was a strange weight to those last words Vincent had said, and the blue-eyed General really didn’t see it in himself to go down that road again, and he wasn’t going to. It was what the ex-Turk had needed to say, and he could understand it, rationalize it, but that didn’t mean he could, or should accept it in spite of all the circumstances. It was something for another time, maybe something for a couple of months or a year from now, when all this pain, grief and despair wasn’t so fresh inside him.

Shaking his head to dispel the negative veil that had fallen over him, he couldn’t help but let the ghost of a smile stretch his lips as he thought about what the gunslinger had said about leaving all of his work in Kalm to come to Midgar to check up on  _ him _ and the subsequent blush. It was an overall kind gesture, and coming from a man that knew him for less than a month. But then there was this vein of understanding and trust that was just too strong and too deep to disregard, and maybe it wasn’t that odd. Because when tough times come, you’d know who your true friends really are. And again, Angeal had to ignore the small voice at the back of his head scheming and whispering that based on this very same principle, he was the most terrible friend both Sephiroth and Genesis had… and it was really hard, it broke his heart just the same, but he didn’t let anything come across his features. 

“Thank you.” Angeal said solemnly, the tiny smile still playing on his lips as he wanted to add ‘For leaving your work to check up on me and for the sentiment.’ but decided against it. Instead, he queried, motioning forward and they started moving toward the building. “How long are you staying?” 

For the briefest moment, he could have sworn that the look that passed over Valentine’s face was apologetic. With a sinking feeling, the younger man realized that the gunslinger likely wasn’t intending to stay at all. He had-effectively-just told him that he’d left his work behind...and despite the fact that his intentions were good, Angeal couldn’t imagine the individual before him shirking his responsibilities just to ‘catch up’, no matter how brief their exchange. He shoved the small part of him that was still disappointed down. Concentrating on it wouldn't do him any good.

“I'm not.” Vincent replied, and it was obvious that he'd warmed his tone for the sake of the response. “I leave in an hour.” His shoulders slumped somewhat before he appeared to gather himself. “I should check in with Reeve.”

They'd made their way up to Administration. Angeal tried not to concentrate on the memories that seemed to seep from the walls. He couldn't quite avoid that feeling of expectation, of looking for a fiery mop of red hair and laughing blue eyes. Genesis was imbued in the building in a way that made his chest ache. Likewise, it was impossible not to look at the blank door of Sephiroth's office...devoid of its placard. He'd had it removed but nothing inside had been changed... though it would have to be soon. At any moment, he expected the younger man to emerge in a wealth of black leather and silver hair... sweeping, silent and impassive. He and Genesis would meet in the hallway... unaware of the fact they were being watched. Sephiroth would cup the redhead's elbows; lean in to bump their foreheads together and they would simply  _ breathe- _

“-Angeal.”

It was the second time Vincent had touched him, and he moved away equally as quickly when he got his attention. The former Commander took a deep breath, one he couldn't quite manage to control as rubicund irises observed him at a distance. 

“I do have some business to attend to with Veld.” the ex-Turk amended. “Perhaps I'll stay a week.”

Looking at the place where the phantom of his childhood friend in the embrace of his silver-haired lover was slowly blurring and fading in the hallway, Angeal tried to push down the overwhelming feeling of loss, focusing instead on the point of contact where Vincent’s hand had been only moments ago. The raven-haired wondered-briefly, because he couldn’t really grasp what this particular vein of thought entailed, or how healthy it was considering his current state of mind-if the crimson-eyed man presently watching him could be the anchor that he needed, someone familiar in a world that was getting more and more foreign with each passing day.

Attempting at a somewhat reassuring smile, even though he knew it was probably more worrisome, the General looked up,  _ hopeful _ . “That’d be great.”


	6. Chapter Six

Vincent didn’t know why he’d decided to stay. 

Standing in the middle of what was now his apartment in HQ, the dark-haired ex-Turk amended his mental statement. He  _ did _ know why he’d decided to stay, he just  _ didn’t  _ know why that particular reason had brought him to such a conclusion. And really it wasn’t so much a reason as it was a person, and as a rule, he tried to keep people out of his locational decisions. Sinking down onto the new couch, the red-eyed gunslinger scrubbed tired hands over his eyes before leaning back and stretching his legs out. 

It was nice to go without his boots for once. Really, it was just nice to not have to wear something kevlar and buckled for once. That was one inconvenience of sleeping for over a decade; you didn’t really think about the fact that you’d need new clothes. Angeal had provided him with simple attire; T-shirts, sweatpants and slacks that were comfortable but not gaudy or ostentatious. Vincent could appreciate that. As a Turk, he’d been required to wear a suit constantly, and dressing up got indescribably tedious. His arm he was stuck with; gold-plated claws in terms of prosthetics wouldn’t have been his personal choice, but he’d long ago gotten over the loss of his flesh-and-bone limb. Feasibly, it was detachable, but it didn’t bother him when he was sleeping and he needed it during the day. 

Angeal Hewley. 

Scarlet-eyes narrowed as something that felt quite a bit like pain squeezed at his chest in response to the thought of the aforementioned individual. He didn’t know how the newly-instated General invoked such feelings in him. And the most abhorrent part about it was that he couldn’t  _ name _ the feelings because they were so coagulated and convoluted. Logically, Vincent knew his confinement had quite a bit to do with that. He’d never been particularly social to begin with, but his long sleep had done him no favors in terms of how well he worked with others. It also didn’t give him a clear individual window of his own emotions. 

This was concerning to him because despite the fact that he was never going to be a stellar host at a dinner party, he’d always been fairly good at understanding himself. His emotions now eluded him...sometimes blanketed by the ever-present feeling of depression that had led him to his coffin in the first place. With Hewley, those depressive feelings were less virulent. He was more aware of the actual cause behind them instead of feeling the need to wallow endlessly in his own sorrow. Logically, that in of itself explained his need to be close to the younger man; anyone rational would want to be close to someone who made it easier for them to understand themselves. 

It didn’t-however-explain his desire to reciprocate; to give as much as he’d been given. Vincent wasn’t selfish, but he wasn’t exactly the epitome of emotional generosity. It was a concern that had constantly plagued him while he was with Lucrecia, because she gave and gave and gave until she couldn’t give anymore. And as hard as he’d  _ tried _ to return the favor he was eternally imbued with the sensation of not being enough, of not having enough to fully balance out the scales in their disaster of a relationship. The dark-haired man knew deep down that that was not how relationships worked; that give and take wasn’t based on the concept of how much someone else had versus how much you had...but being young and clueless and absolutely ignorant to romance hadn’t helped him in that area either. He supposed-bitterly-that he could have tried to have been more assertive with Lucrecia, that he could have done something more drastic to try and save their son from his assigned fate. But the younger him, the less jaded him was too focused on the idealisms of affection...of beauty and the seemingly immortal permanence of that beauty. 

None of this-of course-rationalized his feelings for Angeal.

He was too young to chalk the possibility of his attraction up as physical, but at the same time Vincent couldn’t dismiss it as a paternal feeling of protectiveness either. Logically, he shouldn’t be harboring any sort of coagulation of emotions over the blue-eyed First at all. Hewley had been nothing but kind and professional towards him. Yes, he’d chosen to forgo that professionalism when it came to discussing Sephiroth, however briefly, but that was no reason for him to feel so conflicted about someone he barely knew. Letting his fingers run through his hair, Vincent closed his eyes. He couldn’t afford to think about this, not when he didn’t know what the emotions the subject of his ruminations evoked even were. Shoving his muddled thoughts to the side, the dark-haired ex-Turk considered more immediate, pressing avenues of importance.

All things considered, the reform was going well.

Most of the men were falling in line, if his reports from Lazard could be trusted. For some reason, Vincent felt like they could be. Despite the fact that Deusericus had obviously been working with Shinra a long time, he was given the distinct impression that the Head of Soldier was there as a mediator; to try and even out the harsh consequences that Administration leveled upon their employees. As an executive, he had very little breathing room, but Lazard seemed to make a considerable effort to be fair and considerate. Neither of them had bothered to seek each other out to speak privately, but they occasionally nodded to each other in passing and that was more than enough for Vincent. Veld had been practically tearful upon his initial return to HQ, and he wanted to avoid any other subsequent experiences entirely.

Other facets were slower to come together. There was the matter of the population, of finance distribution and where those resources were going to centralize in terms of fiscal taxes and standard policy. Because despite Angeal’s insistence that this wasn’t governmental, it was absolutely governmental. They were-essentially-trying to turn an industrialized stratocracy into an industrialized democracy. That was no simple feat...no instant feat...but it was still slowly happening. The populace was hesitant about it at first; there were a few protests led by groups and individuals who were fearful of change but they never escalated to anything violent. Two of them had happened in the past few days and it obviously affected Angeal on a deep, emotional level he couldn’t fathom. Vincent couldn’t help but feel a little bit indignant on the younger man’s behalf, because the blue-eyed First had worked very hard to get the company merely to where they were now. At the same time, the public wasn’t going to see that or understand that. They were only going to see usurpation and mutiny. Bitterly, he hoped that at least the President was unaware of how far-reaching the claws of his tyranny extended. 

He still didn’t know why he was at HQ.

Casting a desperately rational glance around, Vincent acknowledged that there was nothing left for him to do. He’d checked in with Reeve and had a meeting with Veld that had proven mostly fruitless. The Head of the Turks had taken to asking him to rejoin them several times since his return was made public knowledge. Each time, the red-eyed man grew evermore impatient with his former fellow-agent’s inability to respect his decision. He’d made a habit of avoiding Intelligence whenever he could. He had a great amount of respect for the Turks, but that respect extended only so far as he could keep them at bay. 

A knock at the door to his apartment gave him pause. 

Letting his eyes cut to the clock, Vincent rose soundlessly and strode to the entrance, casting a quick glance around the small space before putting his hand on the knob. It really wasn’t what anyone would call an apartment; more like an efficiency. The only thing not connected to the main part of the house was the bathroom. The couch folded out into a good-sized bed, and there really wasn’t anything else he could ask for. Angeal had tried to talk him into a bigger living space, but he didn’t have that many belongings...none at all really...and he wasn’t interested in accumulating clutter, so he’d chosen the smallest of options. It was explained to him that these were usually reserved for newly-promoted Thirds, but he wasn’t a soldier and never intended to be, so it was fine. 

Opening the door provided him with a faceful of leafy greens. 

For a moment, Vincent couldn’t do anything but blink stupidly, because it was quite evident a potted plant was at his front door. Then the plant moved and a headful of onyx hair and a splash of blue gave voice to the identity of his visitor. Angeal looked a little bit sheepish as he wordlessly stepped back so that he could enter; his large, emerald visitor well in hand and-surprisingly-not trailing any dirt onto the carpet. It appeared to be Maranta Leuconeura, if his memories of plantology served him right...though he had no idea what the younger man thought he was doing bringing it into his apartment. Closing the door, the scarlet-eyed ex-Turk watched as the newly-appointed General dithered back and forth between surfaces before apparently deciding that the plant looked rather nice on his kitchen counter. He placed it there perfunctorily before turning it one hundred and eighty degrees to the left, and then back to the right. Stepping back, Angeal nodded satisfactorily before turning to nod once more at Vincent. 

“You should know that plants tend to die in my possession.” The older man said flatly. “I’ve been known to kill cacti.” He looked thoughtfully at the admittedly attractive houseplant and relented. “Nevertheless, I appreciate it.” Raising an eyebrow, Vincent leaned next to the aforementioned shrubbery and tilted his head. “I take it you haven’t just come to-” He broke off and watched as the former Commander disappeared back out into the hall only to return with two somewhat smaller plants. One of these he nestled on the coffee table, and the other he handed to the bewildered gunslinger, who took it automatically. When Angeal retreated into the hallway yet again, coming back with what appeared to be a small tree, he attempted to protest but was rebuffed with a stern look as the ‘tree’ was settled in a corner next to the couch. Thankfully, the blue-eyed First didn’t go back for anything else...preferring to close the efficiency door and fuss with the jungle he’d apparently carried in his pockets. “You know,” Vincent deadpanned. “If you’re housewarming, a casserole would have been fine.” 

The dark-haired soldier walked back toward the door, and the marksman was accosted with the genuine fear that maybe Angeal had forgotten yet another vegetation, but the aforementioned man stood right by the entrance, quietly looking around the jungle he’d made of his studio apartment. Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, the blue-eyed First turned to him, smiling. “If they’re too much trouble, you can always call me to come and take them back. But I figured they might help make you feel more settled here.” 

The last sentence was spoken with a vein of doubt and Vincent could almost see the gears turning inside that head of onyx, so he quickly intervened. “I appreciate them, really. But like I said, I don’t have a green thumb, I’m afraid they might perish-...”

“I apologize for cutting in, but they’re all relatively easy houseplants. They don’t require extensive care just some water every other day. And I meant what I said, I can take them back, not that it’s okay to take back something you’ve given to someone, just…” A gloved hand was scratching a head of onyx locks as Angeal looked away and down at some point on the ground that for some unknown reason had attracted his attention, and then there was a pale shade of pink dusting his aquiline features.

Against his will, the older man felt his lips curl into a smile. Something soft grew and burst into something warm at the center of his sternum where he immediately squeezed it out of existence. 

“Thank you.” He said calmly. “I’ll take good care of them.” 

The former Commander’s expression remained the same, but his eyes crinkled just slightly at the edges and the blue in them seemed to shiver somewhat, as if Angeal was smiling with his irises. Swallowing against the suddenly self-conscious lump in his throat, the ebon-haired gunslinger turned and made his way to the kitchen, more for something to keep his hands busy than anything. The space between the overhung counter, fridge, and back cabinets was small; no more than three or four feet wide. Opening the fridge, Vincent squinted momentarily against the bright light before his eyes adjusted.

“Drink?” He offered, holding up a bottle of ale while reaching for another. Angeal made a noise of assent and he brought both glass containers over to the counter; popping the caps before handing one over to his guest, who thanked him perfunctorily. “I don’t have anything expensive, I’m afraid.”

Angeal huffed a laugh before taking a sip.

“I hate to sound jaded, but I’m not the type to drink two-thousand gil chardonnay.” That dark head of hair shook back and forth. “Now if you ask _Genesi-_ ” He stopped, appeared to falter before sitting down on the couch. “If you _asked_ Genesis,” He amended, gripping the neck of the bottle tightly. “He’d tell you to get him something worth half a year’s stipend and even then he might not be happy with it.” 

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

To remedy it, Vincent lifted his drink to his lips in order to gather his thoughts, leaning on the counter next to the plant again, letting his good hand wander idly over the green, teardrop-shaped leaves. A silence fell between them, but it was an easy silence. There wasn’t anything awkward or stilted about it...it was more comfortable than anything. Here again, Chaos was strangely silent, the normally virulent void he filled in his chest a dim...fluttering ember rather than a hot, violent one ready to burst into flame at any moment. Yet again, the scarlet-eyed gunslinger forced himself not to overthink the implications of it, placing his ale down and running his free hand through his hair. 

“I’m shipping out tomorrow.”

He said this decisively, determinedly. Because he had to. Because he’d spent far too much time loitering about already. Angeal seemed to be doing better, and he didn't know why that was a facet in his decision, but it was important. Even as he spoke, he acknowledged the small part of him that didn’t  _ want  _ to leave...that wanted to spend several more weeks hovering uselessly around HQ hoping for an off chance that he’d become somehow immobily useful to the man before him. The individual in question didn’t respond, and after a moment, the older man glanced at him only to have his breath catch in his throat. Sapphire eyes were watching his fingers stroke idly through the lush, verdant leaves of the plant...a hazy, distracted sort of expression on his face. Angeal’s expression was dazed...almost bewildered in its intensity, and a part of Vincent answered to it, thrilled to it with a shiver that was not unlike the soft vibrato of a string instrument plucked. And it was a  _ safe  _ feeling, a warm feeling unlike any other and-

_ No. _

The raven-haired ex-Turk cleared his throat and removed his hand, tucking it into his pocket and clenching it tight. The newly-installed General jumped, looking somewhat guiltily at him out of the corner of his eye. He pretended not to notice. Because there was no place for that here. Not in the slightest. 

The tranquility that had fallen around them was altered by the seemingly harmless action and reaction that had taken place between them in the expanse of infinitesimal moments. It was awkward and unwanted, and Vincent couldn’t help but notice the younger man busying himself with his drink, a strange kind of nervousness accompanying his every move as sky blue eyes actively avoided his observing gaze.

A small voice urged him to take his hand out of his pocket and return it to those leathery soft leaves so that maybe the tangible silence hanging about the room would return to how it had been, but the dark-haired marksman snuffed it out without hesitation, tightening his fist even more where it was hidden in his pocket.

There was a soft muted clink as Angeal placed his now empty bottle on the coffee table, nodding his head to no one and nothing in particular as far as the older man was concerned before leaning forward in his seat, resting muscular elbows on his thighs just shy of his knees before clasping his gloved fingers together. “I hope you had some time to rest before having to go back to work.” And there was a vein of disappointment in his voice, which made Vincent’s eyebrows draw together as he tried to decipher the man in front of him. This came like second nature to him, the want and the ability to understand people, to pick apart their body language and their tone, the slightest twitch in their features to how their pupils dilated when they were lying. And he had to actively try and suppress it, not that if he didn’t he’d end up with anything other than what was greeting his eyes.

The raven-haired First was a straightforward person, his demeanor showing exactly what was going on inside him without the need to twist and turn it out of shape. And it was a rare thing, at least as far as Vincent was concerned, because people had all been wearing masks around him back then, and despite the short time he’d been around, it hadn’t really changed that much even now. Before, it used to be commonplace among those occupying positions of power, but now it seemed like an epidemic among ordinary citizens. 

“How’s your time been around here?” And now blue irises were watching him watch Angeal, recognition of some sort flashing in them which made the gunslinger tense a little as though he’d been caught red-handed, but when the younger man’s features softened somewhat, the same bright smile lighting those sapphire pools, he felt himself relax.

“Quiet.” Vincent murmured, leaning more heavily on the counter and letting his eyelids drop to half-mast. “Though I wouldn't call my missions riveting.” He added after a moment. “It's interesting to see how everything's changed.” He finished his drink. “But I've enjoyed myself here.” The chuckle that bubbled out of his throat felt strange, as if laughter was a foreign thing. “Even if I'm not being particularly useful.” The scarlet-eyed ex-Turk smiled almost unconsciously. “Nevertheless, sometimes it's nice to be present without having to utilize your skill sets.”

He hesitated for a moment before joining Angeal on the couch, thumbing through a magazine in front of them, coming to a page he'd dog-eared.

“I did find this.” He continued, passing the item over and watching as the younger man raised an eyebrow. “It’s a magazine that sells uniforms.” He shrugged. “I don't know, I thought maybe you might want to change the design for the infantry. Something different, something that represents standing for something else.”

The man beside him was flipping through the spread with a thoughtful expression. Everything about Hewley was thoughtful, he realized. Quietly considerate and yet carefully observant. Chaos purred and he jolted upright as if electrocuted, Angeal yelped and nearly dropped the magazine, staring at him with a truly baffled look before apparently thinking ignorance was bliss and continuing a resolutely focused sort of perusal. And Vincent wanted to laugh hysterically and slink back to his coffin because he  _ knew  _ what was wrong with him now, knew what emotion had been plaguing him for weeks. 

He was attracted to Angeal.

Acknowledging it didn't make him happier. Logically, it made sense. Angeal was kind and friendly to him in a way no one else had been for many years. Moreover, he felt in control around him...stable and focused. And of course  _ Chaos  _ liked him; he was beginning to think it was impossible to dislike Angeal. Staring at those chin-length, onyx locks, the ebon-haired gunslinger acknowledged that they framed a strong, attractive jaw lightly dusted with stubble. He was muscular but not ridiculously so…broad-shouldered and virile. Vincent swallowed despairingly. He was  _ too young.  _ Realistically, he was old enough to be his father, physicality aside. He didn't have a right to make a move. And so the older man simply sat there, frozen in some sort of existential horror, unaware that he was staring until it was far too late.

Ocean-blue eyes were holding his gaze and only then did he notice the warm touch of leather curling around his fingers in a somewhat reassuring gesture.

Vincent knew he was panicking, and it was laughable because he was old enough now not to go all jittery with feelings; but the man sitting in front of him was as old as his son, and it didn’t really make his emotions go away, it definitely didn’t make things any easier on him. To make the matters worse, the Turk in him was trying to come up with reasons how he hadn’t noticed these feelings sneak up on him and grow and grow into this uncontrollable situation he was faced with. The marksman wanted to protest, because being around Hewley meant everything but a lack of control, and he could trust the younger man. He respected him for all the hard work he’d been putting into reforming something that Vincent was sure a good portion of the world’s population believed to be beyond redemption. And really, he admired the former Commander’s resolve in proving them wrong. 

He was devoted to his cause without a fault, and it really spoke volumes about the man Angeal Hewley was. 

The hold around his fingers tightened somewhat and Vincent felt an insignificant warmth creep up his neck as he saw understanding flash in the eyes that hadn’t left his visage. For a brief moment, he really wondered about the possibility of the younger man harboring the same feelings toward him, before the ex-Turk pushed that thought and the subsequent calculations of such a probability to the back of his head.

“I wish you could stay.” Angeal spoke, his voice low in a strange way that made Vincent’ resolve crack at not wanting to think about the implications.

The shiver that ran down the older man’s spine was completely involuntarily. Because he didn’t know what this was; whether it was physical attraction or mental attraction or  _ both.  _ The idea of  _ both  _ was considerably more terrifying because it meant that he desired something more from the individual across from him than physical gratification. With a kind of despairing inward groan, the onyx-haired gunslinger acknowledged that he was the last person to seek out something for the sake of pure physical gratification. He already liked Angeal on a mental scale that was just a little bit ridiculous. And he wanted to understand...to understand... _ more  _ about this before making hasty decisions, because surely they wouldn’t work out...surely his novelty would wear off at some point. 

But those mako-infused eyes seemed to be burning soft, warm holes into his soul...holes his soul hearkened to...basking and blossoming into something quiet and yearning and yet somehow uncertain. He felt himself lick his lips-which he had not, by his reckoning, done since he was a teenager-felt his eyes zero in on the subtle part of Angeal’s lips...and they were beautiful. A beautiful  _ mouth  _ really, strong, stern and yet giving in ways that often left him baffled. The hand holding his tightened as both of them angled their heads instinctively and the scarlet-eyed ex-Turk felt something  _ quake  _ through him as warm breath ghosted over his cheeks, as he drew one leg up on the couch reflexively while he angled his body. Closer, closer, and he could count each ebon eyelash on the face before him. Closer and Vincent’s breathing was ragged, caught in a continuous loop in his throat. Closer and-

**_*-Bang!*_ **

Both men startled apart like frightened rabbits as the door to the apartment was thrown against the wall, which was evidently enough room for Zack to come charging in looking curious and enthusiastic. 

“Angeal!” He exclaimed, waving his arms about. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere man! No one knew where you were so I hacked your phone and tracked it here, pretty neat, huh?”

And no, Vincent thought angrily, it was  _ not  _ ‘neat’. But Angeal was already pulling away, blushing furiously as he settled back on the couch. Unfortunately for both of them, Fair was painfully swift on the uptake. 

“Ohh.” He said slowly, looking between them.  _ “Ohh,  _ I better go, yea?” He jabbed a gloved thumb to the door. “I’m gonna be in Accounting ‘Geal, okay?”

The spikey-haired First didn’t wait for the General to answer, winking at Vincent who was looking rather incensed before his facial features rearranged themselves into a rather flabbergasted expression as the door closed with an equally loud bang. A smack brought his crimson irises to the man sitting on the couch who was holding his forehead in his hand, and the ex-Turk couldn’t help but feel the anger he’d felt earlier and the subsequent surprise melt away because he could almost hear Angeal’s inward groan.

The older man couldn’t help but feel disappointed as the former Commander extricated himself from his seat, and even more because the moment had passed and Vincent knew that he probably wasn’t going to get up the courage to try his luck at this again. Only moments before getting into his trance-like state, he’d been thinking that he shouldn’t make hasty decisions and he’d been doing exactly that. Maybe, it was some intervention of sorts-not that he believed in superstitions-to prevent them from ruining this tangible understanding and respect they had between them until they could think things through.

“I think…I’d better get going.” Angeal muttered, sounding somewhat defeated and when the gunslinger looked up at him before rising from his seat, he could still see the pink shade dusting his pale complexion. 

Nodding, but not at the spoken statement, but more at the decision he’d come to, the gunman followed the dark-haired First to the door in a somewhat awkward silence, both of them avoiding looking at each other and finding the ground of his apartment of a more interesting subject.

Reaching the entrance of his efficiency, a gloved hand was cradling the knob and Vincent chose that exact moment to speak up. “Thank you for coming by and also for-...”

Suddenly he was staring at bows of ebony lashes fluttering against pale cheekbones, a pair of warm exquisite lips pressed against his own as the leather of a gloved hand slowly brushed the side of his face. For a split second, he was frozen, suspended in an incredulous moment of both disbelief and terrible anticipation. Of denial and hope rolled into a single, finite gesture. Then, abruptly, he returned the kiss; chasing the retreat of Angeal’s mouth angling his head to fit them together better as he lifted his good hand and trailed it across stubble; relishing the feel of it against his fingertips even as the younger man’s hands threaded in his hair...brushed it forward over his shoulder reverently before hefting the fall of it in the splay of his fingers. They kept it chaste; somewhat anyway...it was close-mouthed and a little bit tentative but Vincent knew that the longer they kept it up the less likely it was that either of them would leave the room. It was almost frightening to have such feelings again, and he’d never particularly considered himself partial to men...but he’d never really had the opportunity before either. 

A large, firm palm grasped his hip through the thin cotton of his T-shirt and the throb that rolled from the contact point to his groin was so intense that he had to break the kiss to let it his breath out through his teeth. Angeal followed, and the next kiss was not so chaste- _ hot- _ open-mouthed though with no real employment of tongue. Though it wouldn’t be long the scarlet-eyed man thought dimly as he felt the hard wood of the door at his back...felt the long line of another body pressed up against his own. Carefully, hesitantly, he lifted his prosthetic arm, feeling the fingers curl at his command before he let it creep up the planes of the ex-Commander’s uniform to curl over his shoulder. He didn’t know what to do with any of this past kissing. It had been too long and he was indescribably nervous. A series of soft, teasing nips at his lower lip and the uncertainty fled, replaced instead with a kind of burning hunger he didn’t know he still possessed. But he had to ask, had to at least give them something to stand on. Angeal was young, he might be thinking irrationally, he had to make sure he was doing something he wouldn’t regret later.

“Are you sure you want this?” He muttered, and he hated how wrecked and ragged his voice sounded. 

The hold against his hip tightened somewhat, Angeal pulling away minutely, but away nonetheless. The same nervousness from only infinitesimal moments ago twisted in his gut the longer it took for the younger man to answer, for him to keep avoiding his questioning gaze.

It didn’t take a genius to realize the dark-haired First was conflicted. 

It was the first time in the said man’s presence that Chaos pushed up against his resolve, and Vincent tried his damnedest to stifle the groan that bubbled up his throat as he forced it back down, but those blue eyes were already looking up at him with a mixture of worry and confusion before they were downcast again.

His hold on Angeal’s shoulder faltered as the former Commander pulled away, and it was extremely hard to stand there with his back pressed to the door, in a perplexed state in which his mind refused to come up with any answers, still reeling from the abrupt intimacy bestowed upon him, only to have it snatched away; and it had been genuine-Vincent reasoned-as he double checked and triple checked to make sure he wasn’t making things up to lessen this feeling of anxiety and guilt and-...

-Gloved hands settled on his shoulders, and the General was still looking down, his lips quirked downwards. “I’m sure I want this… I’m just unsure of what this entails and what it means for me and for you in this situation. But once, I advised someone to step back and think things through about their relationship, rationally. And you told me it’d be good if I followed my own advice.” The crimson-eyed gunman wanted to protest, but the dark-haired First continued. “I don’t want my grief to be the reason I’m starting something with you. It’d do nothing but dishonor you, dishonor our relationship.” Pressing those pale lips into a thin line, the younger man seemed to have finally worked up the courage to look at him as he continued. “If you don’t want this… I think I can deal with it. But if you do, can you give me some time? Please?”

Time he could give. Pushing his hair back with both hands in an unusually reflexive gesture, Vincent then hooked his fingers over the crease of an elbow, rubbing his thumb soothingly up the bicep before forcing himself to remain still, to keep his gaze trained on the individual in front of him. It was hard, because everything he knew about reciprocative physical contact insisted that both participants should be equally willing…that once a certain point was reached you couldn't back away. And his body was  _ starved  _ for that sort of thing; wanted it with every fiber of his being...but he  _ didn’t  _ want it if neither of them knew exactly what they wanted and he was fairly sure that that was where they were right now.

“I do.” Vincent replied. “I want this. And I’ll give you time.”

_ Time. _

He always seemed to possess so much of it when others possessed so little. Lucrecia never had time, she’d never had a chance, Sephiroth had had too much time, too much time to grow cruel and callous and eternally unhappy. What would happen if he gave Angeal as much time as he’d given or  _ wanted  _ to give them? Would something terrible befall him? Would he suddenly decide that perhaps he wasn’t a good enough candidate anymore? The older man resisted the urge to throw a hand over his eyes by dropping his gaze to the floor. He knew how dangerous it was to pursue relationships, knew the consequences of lust and love as well as the next person. But he also knew instinctively that Angeal wasn’t the type of person to get disinterested. Knew that if anything drove him away from him it would be something he did personally.

_ Or it would be his guilt. _

The idea hit him like a stab in the gut, because  _ guilt  _ was what had killed Lucrecia, guilt was what had put him in a coffin for over a decade, guilt was-possibly-what had killed their son. He didn’t want Angeal to shoulder this-to  _ take  _ this-and dismiss it as something heated and forgettable. And Vincent didn’t know why he was so terrified of that concept, of why the idea of an Angeal-less future was decidedly gut-clenching. Some of his fear must have shown on his face because the hands on his shoulders tightened somewhat, and the onyx-haired individual appeared to be trying to catch his gaze. Rubicund eyes closed as the individual behind them attempted to ground himself in something logical, because this was  _ not  _ rejection, it was just...stasis. 

_ Oh. _

That was why it scared him so much. Exhaling, Vincent swallowed and turned his eyes to the side. He’d spent several years stuck in stasis, in a state of uncertainty, of nonexistence. Of course someone asking him to wait felt like resigning himself to something terrible. But this was different. Vincent told himself this firmly as he looked forward once more into pools of sapphire. This was different because he wasn’t going into some cold, dusty basement to sleep in a box while Angeal made up his mind. Angeal wasn’t going to ask him to do that, the mere idea of him asking him to do that was ridiculous. This was okay, it wasn’t running away, it wasn’t either of them running away. 

“Take as much time as you need.” He said calmly, allowing the ghost of a smile to touch his lips. 

The younger man mirrored his expression and before long, those lips were covering his again, gentle, chaste and sweet and ephemeral before Angeal drew back, their positions now reversed, and the gloved fingers that had been threading reverently in his hair yet again turned the knob. Crimson irises locked with blue, and the former Commander spoke as he slowly walked backwards over the threshold. “So, I’ll see you around.” The anticipation and nervousness behind that statement made it more of a question than something simply spoken, and the dark-haired First was still lingering there in the hallway, smiling softly with his eyes. Vincent cleared his throat. 

“See you.” He said quietly, and Angeal smiled, the hinges swung tight. 

He was alone again. Exhaling, the dark-haired ex-Turk put a hand to his mouth, pressing his fingers down somewhat. Then, he cursed. 

Because now he really, _ really  _ didn't want to leave. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to Mahishasura Mardini by Shanti People while writing this chapter, especially for the fight scenes. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Azure eyes snapped open.

The roar of people screaming, the cheering was so booming it made his ears hurt to the point he wondered if they might start to bleed.

From where he was currently lying on the ground-which seemed to be a mixture of cracked tiles, cement, and moist dirt-he was in some arena of sorts, surrounded by people in weird looking uniforms streaked with glowing lines.

Everything was shrouded in a haze of green, swirling, like he was seeing everything from behind a green glass that had water running on the other side of it.

Only now did he acknowledge the way his body seemed to vibrate with a dull but acute all-encompassing ache that seemed to run throughout his body, never decreasing, always present… 

_ Always? _

Frowning, he tried to move, to draw back his arms that had flopped so lifelessly, so uselessly on either side of his head so he could push up against his palms and rise. The slight movement sent a wave of agony across his neurons that made his head reel, a gasp escaping him. 

The ground shook beneath him and the crowd started cheering louder; some were booing, leering and jeering at him it seemed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when the simple task of getting up seemed almost impossible.

Gritting his teeth against the pain that was the mundane motion of his limbs, he finally managed to get up on all fours and, if it was possible, the clamor got even more tumultuous. He wanted to yell at them to stop but the moment his mouth opened, he retched, cold sweat breaking over his skin as he threw up glowing green. The audience booed in unison, there was a thunderous guttural laugh, and while his arms were trembling threateningly under the strain, he was practically counting the seconds it’d take for him to fall face first into his own vomit.

The ground shook, again and again, footfalls coming closer and closer.

His nails scraped against the dirt as his hands balled into fists, his vision swimming as he tried to raise his head-...

A massive boot connected with his chest, and before the excruciating pain started flowering against his sternum, he was sure that his heart stopped for a moment only to continue in a wholly different yet rapid rhythm. As he was moving against gravity, his breath rushed out of his mouth in a forced expulsion, soon followed by a taste of copper that rushed up over his tongue to sprinkle over his lips. It took less than a split second for an equally enormous fist to come hurtling at him, and he hardly had the time to dodge before he was sent flying, his back hitting a wall before it collapsed under the impact.

The commotion went wild, broken only with the cacophony of heavy thuds as bricks kept falling around and over him. Reflexively, he’d tucked his head under his forearms, coughing as he caught his breath, leaning precariously on his elbows and knees. It felt like every bone in his body was breaking and yet at the same time mending itself. He was sure he had internal bleeding, but he also knew that, for no good reason, he shouldn’t be concerned about it because it would heal itself.

His fingers tangled themselves in his hair, the softness of the tresses that were probably covered by dust catching him off guard as a strange sensation brushed against his subconsciousness only to fade just as quickly as it had surfaced. 

There was an animalistic victorious roar that made his blood boil in his veins.

He wasn’t dead yet.

If his opponent thought that they could get rid of him so easily, they were terribly mistaken.

A feeling of warmth enveloped his hand, and cerulean eyes snapped open, looking up from the blackish liquid-that was oozing through the seam of his lips only to collect on the rubble underneath him-to the orange halo that was engulfing his fingers with amazement, and a pleasant sense of wonder made him smile a bloody smile.

Looking at his left hand, it too caught the same fire that had been burning in the center of his other palm, slowly but surely traveling up his arms.

It made him feel alive.

Pushing through the pain that was his habituality, that was like a second entity living under his skin, he stood up. Swallowing the thick viscid layer covering his tongue, he drew upon the fire that was flowing off him in waves, watching with morbid fascination as huge balls of fire blasted forward to hit his enemy in the back in quick succession.

The hush that fell over the arena made him smirk as he charged forward.

Every time his boots connected with the ground, he channeled the pain into the orange halo engulfing him. His fingertips were tingling, and briefly, vaguely the word ‘summon’ flashed through his psyche, his fingers curling into a loose fist of their own accord around something that should have appeared there, should have-...

-Agony bloomed in his temple, his slouching enemy now facing him with an equally murderous grin as a fist connected to the side of his face, and he went crashing to the ground.

His vision was blurring around the edges as he slumped on his back against the unforgiving ground, and as vigor rapidly drained from him, the misery he’d been in returned tenfold. Vaguely, he wondered why the ceiling that was hundreds of feet above him seemed so jarring as it blurred in and out focus.

Towering above him, his opponent stood, looking down at him. And before darkness overtook him, he heard him say with a hint of amusement.

“I’m Azul. Welcome to the Tsviets. Can’t wait to kill you, G.”

* * *

When he came to, it was dark. Not that it stopped him from seeing everything in the same greenish tint. He was lying on a thin mattress that did almost nothing to alleviate the rigidity of the metal bed that was pinned to the wall. The room-...the  _ cell _ -his mind ameliorated to his surprise- was bereft, except for a hole in the ground that served as his  _ toilet _ , and a small window that was high up, just a couple of inches shy of the ceiling. To his right was the entrance, a reinforced metal door, much like every other surface inside the room-...the  _ cell _ , with a small opening at its bottom that was currently covered by a slab of metal that could only be moved from the other side.

A plastic tray containing his dinner- _ Lunch? Breakfast? And what time was it? What day, what year? Did it really matter? _ -was sitting beside the door on the floor, looking as unappetizing as ever. 

_ Ever? _

He wanted to sit up, but when even bending his fingers hurt, making him feel awfully nauseous, the idea seemed rather unattractive. 

Closing his eyes, G let his head loll limply to the left.

Who was he? Where was this place? Who was this Azul guy? What were the Tsviets?

He just didn’t want to think.

Everything hurt.

Sighing, he opened his eyes.

There were faint scratch marks on the wall to his left.

Frowning at them like they had wronged him somehow, G gritted his teeth as he turned to his side. His hand moved forward through the pain, fingers tracing the vertical lines that were crossed through with a diagonal one, over and over again as their meaning escaped him. He counted…

_ One… Two… Three… Thirty… Thirty-one… Fifty-four…  _

He was sitting up by the time he reached sixty-three, his fingers trembling as he counted still. An image flashed in front of his eyes, too quick to be discernible.

_ Seventy-eight… Eighty-five…  _

The diagonal one in the last stack was longer than the rest, twisting and turning before coming to an abrupt stop. And then, there were dots. Blackish brown with a hint of red.

And G wasn’t seeing anymore.

With the next image that flashed through his mind, he tumbled over the edge of the bed, his whole body tensing while he backed away into the nearest corner, drawing up his knees as he watched the cell in front of him with unmasked horror.

There used to be a desk, rectangular just next to the bed, over his head where he was sitting right now. He could remember how his blood glowed green as he stabbed pencils into his wrists over and over to get the pain burning in his veins out, just  _ out… _

There used to be a toilet bowl, metal, over the hole. He could remember them taking it away after his failed attempt at drowning himself…

He could remember now when they stopped giving him metal spoons and forks… when they stopped giving him them altogether because he could still do some damage with the plastic ones before they could come get him.

Now he could remember what those scores were.

Tally marks.

He’d removed one of the tines in his-back then-metal fork, bending it over and over until it had broken off. He’d hidden it in the shallow gap where the slab of his bed met the wall, scoring a line every time he’d woken up from the hazy stupor that seemed to shroud his memories from those days.

Cold trickled down his spine as blue eyes widened in reminiscence.

Blinding fluorescent lights flashed in front of his irises and the choked noise that bubbled up his throat wasn’t really voluntary.

_...Pale wrists and ankles shackled to the bed… a luminescent green_ _flowing through transparent tubes latching onto him… his chest cracked open on a metal gurney… excruciating pain…  fighting with weird looking people… bathing in their blood as he passed out from pure exhaustion… being dragged all the way to his_ ** _cell_** _, battered, broken, bloodied… excruciating_ ** _pain_** _as his body righted each broken bone, mended each broken organ, each ruptured blood vessel… blade and scalpel tearing through his flesh alike… dissection… rising through the ranks as the crowd yelled his name from the sidelines… being flung around and into the rubble like he was some broken toy… excruciating_ ** _pain_** _… tanks filled to the brim with glowing green and he was trapped inside… drowning… drowning… darkness… blackish blood everywhere… stab, stab, stab, and hands were yanking his arms, twisting them behind his back until the joint in his shoulders popped… dislocated arm, and he was still forced to fight… screaming… screaming…_

G screamed.

* * *

Black knee-high boots. A greyish silver trench coat with thick stripes of black in the middle on either side of a glowing line of blue. Further up, two black belts crisscrossed, and then there were waist-length jet-black tresses that were all trimmed uniformly into a straight line. Higher still, the three talon-like spikes of the crown of her visor were visible, and lower were the pauldrons and the back of her chest plate. G had come to realize that there was something in there that fed the continuous flow of the luminescent fluid. 

Argento had told him that it was called Mako.

G couldn’t care less.

To him, it was the very cause of his torture. Every single day. Showering with it and then being strapped to a chair while they pumped him so full of it he was seeing through a veil of green. Everything was heightened to a literally agonizing degree of fine detail… of touch, of taste, of smelling, hearing and seeing, and there was also something else… niggling at the back of his mind, underneath the haziness and the constant entity of pain, lying dormant.

He nearly bumped into the woman in front of him only to notice they had arrived. Stepping slowly to the right, his cerulean eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the girl standing in front of him and Argento. When she too, noticed him, her head of short reddish brown tresses tilted to the side, blue eyes widening slightly, and for a moment G wondered if she was simply mirroring his reaction.

“This is Shelke, the transparent.” Just as his companion’s utterance came to a stop, G had to flip backwards as a loop of vivid orange color cleaved through the air where he’d been standing only moments ago. Curling his fingers into fists, he watched as Argento stepped back to let him fight this girl.

She had strange swords that seemed to be made of light, whirring softly in the air as they whipped into a blur in front of his face that made him step backwards yet again. Dropping into a crouch he attempted to kick her feet from under her only to find her gone, disappeared. Looking around, he tried to concentrate, to feel her aura and presence and it wasn’t really hard thanks to the invasive liquid fire running through his veins. Also, there was the sensation of something being different about the air surrounding her weapons of choice.

A smirk curved his lips as he waited for her to sneak up on him, only to lunge at the last minute, grabbing her by where he could see her wrists were in his mind’s eye. There was a yelp as G hoisted her up while pivoting on his heels and whirling around a couple of times before hurling her at the crates in a corner of the room.

Her corporeal form flickered into visibility as she reemerged from broken wooden panels, sheathing her swords after turning them off. Her eyes that had turned orange also returned to their normal shade.

“Is he another Tsviet?” Shelke whispered softly, her syllabary broken and intermittent unlike the others G had seen. 

His personal trainer of sorts nodded before elaborating. “I need to see his fighting style so I can create a weapon for him. His name is-...”

“G.” He spoke, tasting the name on his tongue, turning it over and determining how it sounded.

Suddenly he was accosted with a desire to run. Something was bubbling inside his chest, unknown and foreign, unnameable and he just stared straight ahead at Shelke, because she seemed so familiar… she reminded him of someone he knew… someone who had blue eyes and short auburn hair like that… 

“Can I have some fun with him or are you taking him away?” The redheaded girl asked.

“He’s already met Azul. I don’t think he can fight Weiss and Rosso without a blade anymore.” The sable-haired woman motioned to leave only to pause midway and look over her shoulder at them. “You could take him to Nero, too.” And there was a strange thing about her voice that made his brows draw together.

For the first time, he looked around the room now that the usual welcoming ritual had passed. Here, one had to be on their guard at all times, or they’d be dead long before they could get to be a Tsviet. Or that was what Argento had told him. G really didn’t remember much. It was all snippets, images scattered here and there in his mind that mostly made no sense.

The walls were made of stone, and there were columns of steel here and there supporting the weight of the roof, and there on the second floor were more of the tall rectangular boxes of steel, stacked, covered by thin sheets of plastic. Next to a couple of those boxes that were running, beeping and whirring lowly in the background was a brown armchair in front of some weird looking apparatus. The chair stood out, so out of place in the spacious room. Walking slowly toward it, G poked it tentatively and found it surprisingly  _ soft _ .

“Do you like it?” Shelke asked behind him, slowly approaching him and it made every muscle in his body go taut with tension as he calculated how to respond to a possible attack that was more on the imminent side than probable.

But it never came, and it was really strange.

Emboldened, he tested the give of the armrests when the redheaded girl came to stand in front of him on the other side of the chair, tilting her head as she observed him. “Don’t you have these up there?”

The question caught him off guard, so off guard that he recoiled from the chair and staggered a couple of steps backwards as though the plush object had burned his fingertips. A part of him cursed himself for not being able to restrain himself, for showing weakness where it could be exploited against him.

“Up... _ there _ ?” And before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth.

G hated himself.

“Rosso said they brought you from up there and how we’re kind of similar.” Shelke explained, but he wasn’t listening anymore.

_ Up there? Up where?  _

Looking around, he tried to find anything, something that could maybe make him remember, like that night- _ or was it day? _ -in his cell.

All of a sudden, images flashed in front of his retinas, too quickly for them to be comprehensible, for them to leave a lasting effect.

Clutching his head, he pressed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he tried to remember anything, something…

“G?”

_ “Genesis?” _

A gasp passed his lips as he looked down at the girl who was now standing in front of her, wondering how pathetic he might seem to her, how weak and unworthy of being a Tsviet.

But that voice he’d heard cut through him like a fine blade. Dark, deep, familiar, reminding him of something tangible, something he had once felt at the tip of his fingertips, something he knew… somewhere… someone…

“I’m sorry, Shelke.”  _ Sorry? Why was he apologizing? What was he apologizing for?  _

Gathering himself enough to stand upright, to turn back into the same G he was before this bizarre encounter, he deadpanned. “I have to leave. I need to kill.”

* * *

Gunshots.

An upward kick, the clatter of metal on the ground, the crack of a spine, a heavy thud.

Running boots. More gunshots. The sickening crunch of bone collapsing under the sheer force of how he brought down the butt of his rifle against the back of a helmet-less head.

Tossing the body aside, G opened fire, reveling in the cacophony of bullets ripping through soft flesh.

And then click, click, click, he went out of ammo. And now it was their turn.

A savage smirk twisted his lips as he rushed forward, fire engulfing his hands, and already they were falling. Their skin blistered and burned under his touch, their lifeblood painting his knuckles as he bashed their faces in. 

The collapsing of a ribcage under his kicks to their chests, their hearts seizing from the impact, and they coughed up blood. 

A head whipping to the side with too much force to be reversible.

They fell like ragdolls.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

He was bleeding here and there, a black viscous thing soaking through his uniform, slowly but surely; a dull pain under his eye, a throbbing ache flowering against his side and back, where he’d received a good beating before being able to overcome a brawny one. 

A hundred of them in less than fifteen minutes.

And it still wasn’t enough to forget that voice, to crush the desire to know what the ‘Up there’ Shelke had told him was.

There wasn’t enough pain, enough blood to overcome the darkness imprisoning him from the inside out, locking up the memories he wanted to remember.

There was a hiss of a blade and if G hadn’t jumped forward, it would have been his head rolling among the multitude of boneless bodies on the ground. He barely had time to notice what his adversary looked like before he had to duck yet again, sweeping his feet against the ground to kick out shapely legs, and there was a flutter of a red feathery cape up and above his head which he yanked on, hard, only to have it give away and remain in his hands.

Jumping up and behind the pivoting figure who cleaved the air where he’d been crouching only moments ago, G kicked, watching with some small amount of satisfaction that his enemy lurched forward before using that momentum to jump forward and land gracefully on her feet as she faced him.

She had striking features.  _ Beautiful. _ With crimson hair that framed her face and blood red eyes. From what G had seen so far, she had both the cunning and the power to make her another Tsviet if her outfit had anything to say about it. Normal soldiers wore the rudimentary uniforms, not at all unlike his own, while the other Tsviets except Azul, Shelke, Argento and this one all wore alterations of those base outfits. 

“So… You are the new one they have brought down here.” Her voice was mellifluous and while it was completely different, G could find some similarities between hers and his own. 

In a blink of an eye, her unique double-bladed weapon was extended toward him, the tip digging under his chin, and despite him lifting his head, it had been enough to draw blood. 

He couldn’t afford getting distracted.

“Rosso, is that it?” He muttered.

“Rosso the Crimson, but you can call me Rosso, darling.” She started circling him, her maroon eyes calculating, watching his every move as she kicked the corpses lying haphazardly around them aside. “I’ve seen you fight with Azul. I’ve seen how much damage you can take.” It didn’t need a genius to know that the moment she was out of his line of sight, her blade would try yet again to claim his head.

Somersaulting forward and taking a machine gun from the bodies strewn on the ground, he quickly landed on his feet before pulling the trigger, watching as Rosso deflected the bullets with ease and started firing at him, which took him almost off guard as the bullet zipped past his ear. 

“I see you’re just as ruthless. I like that.” She purred, rushing toward him in a blur of red and orange that had G leaping backwards and up only to have her follow in hot pursuit in the air.

Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all.

Throwing balls of fire at her could only hold her at bay for so long, and soon they landed on the ground only for him to keep ducking and dodging her blade, throwing sliced gun after sliced gun after he ran out of ammo, and had to use them to ward off her vicious lunges, thrusts, and swipes.

“I’m sorry that today is the day you die.” She laughed, performing an uppercut that could have cleaved him in two if G hadn’t jumped backwards. “I wanted to ask you how the sky looked like.”

Talk about being distracted in battle.

A stinging ache flowered across his cheek as he stood rooted in place, gazing at her disbelievingly. His opponent was mirroring his stance, quirking an elegant red eyebrow at him before her rouge lips curled into a haughty smirk. 

“Oh? You don’t remember?” Throwing her head back, she started laughing, before the hollow sound died abruptly and she was gazing at him sternly. “Then you’ve lived out your purpose. Now, die-...!”

The second those words were out of her mouth, G quickly grabbed where she was holding onto her weapon, yanking it toward him in a semicircular swipe that nearly claimed Rosso’s neck if she hadn’t twirled out of the way and against him so as not to lose her hold on her blade.

Pushing the ruby edge of her double-bladed sword against her neck, G smirked, lowering his head to whisper against her ear. “Look in my eyes and it’s like you’ve seen the sky.” His own eyes widened in astonishment as his voice uttered those words of its own accord, and it felt like someone else had suddenly taken control of his body. He was feeling weird. Thankfully, the woman in his arms wasn’t looking at him and before she could try and come up with a way to break free, G let her go, kicking her in the back hard enough for her to go sprawling to the ground.

Quickly rolling around, Rosso pointed her blade at him, her posture defensive and somewhat...  _ frightened? _

A substantial part of him responded to that fear, rising up in dark waves that threatened to overwhelm him, to make him act upon them, to crush her,  _ kill her like she was never born. Bathe in her blood. _

Frowning, G staggered backwards. “Get up.” And he was sure, it was the part of him that had thought how cunning and beautiful she was, the same part that wanted to know what was this ‘up there’, ‘down here’ thing was about. “I know you will not stop at any chance to kill me, but I have no desire to spill your blood.” His hands started trembling at his sides, wanting to raise them to constrict his own throat, to stop talking, because he couldn’t explain what had come over him, couldn’t account for the words he was uttering even now. Curling them into fists at his sides, G paused for a moment, somewhat recovering himself before continuing. “Come back when you’re stronger.”

Something flickered in those red eyes, too quick and too unknown just like the person lying on the ground at his feet. 

In a split second, she wasn’t there anymore and G was thrown backwards, his back slamming against the unforgiving metal floor of the simulation. His breath got stuck in his throat where a line of burning fire bloomed under the keen ruby of Rosso’s blade across his neck. “ _ You think you’re stronger? _ ” She hissed, her face inches apart from him, indignation blazing through crimson irises as she continued. “ _ You say your eyes are the color of the sky? _ ” Her sword dug in a little bit deeper and for a moment G wondered if this was really the end of the line, his life coming to a stop; an end to all the suffering, to the killing and the never-ending struggle with himself and his memories. Surprisingly, he found the very same part of him that had let her go was okay with this outcome, while the other retaliated, vehemently, boiling in his veins to find a way out of this situation and finish her for good. 

The sword against his throat was raised somewhat, enough for him to exhale shakily before Rosso yelled in his face. “But all you are is a  _ liar _ !”

The virtual reality crashed around them and in the expanse of a couple of moments, she was up in an orange blur, dragging his feet and G struggled, looking around for anything, something before his doom could meet him face to face. 

“I’m going to take you to Nero and then I will kill you with my own two hands!” She growled.

Yanking his foot free, G had a split second to roll before a fist connected to the metal grating where his head had been only moments ago.

“Who’s Nero?” He queried and thankfully, for the time being, it seemed that Rosso’s onslaught was over. 

“What kind of Tsviet are you?” She spat.

And really, what kind of a Tsviet was he?

In fact, who was he in the first place? Who was this G?

_ “Genesis?” _

Who was Genesis? That voice… It wasn’t his.

_ I don’t know.  _

He wanted to reply but he couldn’t. 

_ I…  _

Looking at the metal grate flooring, he was accosted with an overwhelming sense of loss. Not a loss of a person or thing, but a loss of identity, a loss of who he was. 

_ Who he had been……    
_

_? _

Logically, it didn’t make any sense that he had just started existing out of nowhere. He had no concrete proof, but his mind simply couldn’t accept that he had suddenly appeared in the corporeal world, and here of all places, if Rosso and Shelke’s statements about up there and down here were to be accepted as truth.

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Apparently tired from his loss for words, the crimson-haired woman sneered. “Hmph.  _ Pathetic. _ ” 

The gloved hand that enclosed around his wrist caught him by surprise enough for him to pull back reflexively, but she wasn’t letting go. “Come.”

And follow he did. Not because he wanted to. There was really nothing better he could do. The knowledge seemed like a  _ breeze of fresh air  _ between all this mindless slaughter and bloodshed that had become his daily routine. Not to mention the ever-present pain that accompanied his every move. It was surprising how his body had become  _ accustomed _ to it. 

_ What?! _

_ “Look in my eyes and it’s like you’ve seen the sky.” _

Freezing in his tracks, in the winding corridors of the facility they were at, G backtracked in his thoughts. Breeze of fresh air? Accustomed? The color of the sky?

But he’d known pain ever since he’d opened his eyes here. At one point he’d wondered if he’d die if they didn’t give him that daily dose of it. If something would go terribly and utterly wrong inside him. And maybe he needed more of that pain, because now he was sure something had gone awry inside him.

Images flashed in front of his eyes, too quick to be discernible, but enough to make him gasp yet again.

“I’m not going to wait around for you all day. Do you rather die right now?” Further down the hallway, Rosso was standing impatiently with a hand on her hip as she arched an eyebrow, tilting her head toward the massive double door she was standing in front of. 

“You don’t seem like you’d drag people along to make them meet others.” G commented, walking forward until he was standing beside her as she pushed the red button on the wall. The lights turned red, a warning sound blaring around them and echoing off the walls that made him wince and want to cover his ears but he resisted. 

The doors started sliding apart slowly, and beyond them, through the yawning opening, G could see something, but his view was obscured by the sharp corner of a brick column. He knew he shouldn’t be moving forward because as far as he knew, this was probably yet another Tsviet, and as such, an enemy he didn’t know anything about; not that he’d known about the others, but there was something about this one that made a small voice inside him warn against it, that made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. And it was exactly because of this feeling of imminent danger that he stepped forward, one foot ahead of the other.

Behind him, the doors that weren’t even half-open started closing. Pivoting sharply on his heel, G looked at Rosso who was wearing a self-satisfied smirk, holding his blade vertically in the narrowing opening to show him that there was simply no turning back, no way out of this for him.

“It was nice meeting you, darling. Too bad it didn’t last long. I hope my brother enjoys having you for breakfast.” The scarlet-haired woman taunted before the doors slammed shut heavily.

Huffing contemptuously, G turned around, walking past the corner and stopping at the ledge. In front of him, there was a ramp that led to an open space with high ceilings and in the middle of the room, there was a man with onyx unkempt hair strapped to a thick column of concrete with chains that seemed to have no give. His hands were crossed in front of his chest, the sleeves encasing them completely from the looks of it. His uniform was somewhat like others, grayish-black with lines of blue-... _ mako _ . On either side of his torso were a series of slender metal bars- _ joints? _ -along with two guns strapped to his thighs. Dark tendrils were swirling around the other occupant of the room who seemed to be in some form of slumber, and each time one of them passed him closely by, G felt like he could hear distant cries of pain and anguish not at all unlike the sounds passing through his own throat when they strapped him to that metal table to pull him apart limb from limb and watch him as he healed himself back.

A strange feeling stabbed in his chest, and suddenly magenta eyes snapped open as though beckoning him to come forward.

There was a whisper, too low to be intelligible, and G found himself stepping down the ramp.

Some voice was murmuring things inside his head, but it was too far away, and he really paid it no heed until suddenly the man in front of him-Nero presumably-screamed.

“Brother!”

And his world went black.


	8. Chapter Eight

_ New message To: V. Valentine  
_ _ Thank you for being patient with me. I think I know what I want. _

Sitting in a chopper, Angeal had been writing and rewriting that message for the past hour. Thinking about how he’d been waiting for the dwellings of Corel to come into view before he pressed the send button, a smile crept onto his lips. 

His schedule had been crazy over the past month since he’d last seen Vincent. 

The protests had started increasing in intensity and number, which had been almost enough to shake Angeal’s resolve in pursuing whatever they had started. Because how could people not see that they were trying to start moving in the right direction after going the wrong way for so long? How could they not understand that they couldn’t just sit back in their houses and expect everything to change around them in the blink of an eye? Sacrifices had to be made, and it wasn’t like they had been expecting people to pay a pound of flesh. Just thinking about it made the raven-haired man feel so disheartened that he wanted to retire right at that exact moment.

Thankfully, he’d finally voiced his opinion at the last board meeting, that he was just a soldier. Sure, they could give him the statistics, they could give him the paperwork, ask him to keep the peace and security during the demonstrations, and he would do it. But if he had any level of expertise in terms of governmental issues, he probably wouldn’t have placed Reeve at the head of the company. As the military, they had played their part; ensured a somewhat peaceful transition from one system to another. They were still going to stand by their ideals, take their commitments and responsibilities seriously, but that was just about it. If they wanted someone to figure out how to scale the amount of taxes across the diversity of societal classes, they could either check out the Accounting, or ask the other executives.

The former Commander didn’t want to dwell on it. Really. Because it was getting too taxing with each passing day. The constant self-doubt, the second-thoughts about changing the company when it’d had so many far-reaching consequences. He really couldn’t understand how people could turn a blind eye to the corruption, if that meant more money for them; couldn’t understand how they could turn a blind eye to other people’s plight and think only of their own comfort, couldn’t understand how their honor, and if not honor then conscience, allowed for it.

To unwind, he’d fallen back on his old routine; helping around the slums. People were more down to earth there, and it was really easy for Angeal to work with them; familiar and comfortable, teaching them how to fight, watching the progress of the renovation and how it brought a smile to their faces was all he’d needed to forget about all that awaited him up on the plate.

Or rather the people who weren’t waiting for him up there.

He’d finally worked up the courage to write back to his mother. He’d explained that they were reforming Shinra but left out the details about what they had been forced to do to make the change happen. And about Sephiroth and Genesis, he’d only commented that they were away. He’d also left out that they were so  _ so _ far away...far enough that no living being could reach them anymore. He’d left out how he wished them both to be at peace, despite everything that had come to pass. Despite how that part in him still bristled at the idea of the silver-haired man pushing his childhood friend hard enough to make him want to take his life… But then again, the ex-General had also committed some form of suicide by imprisoning himself in his quarters for more than two weeks.

With that taken care of, he’d had forced himself to face his feelings toward a certain dark-haired man.

It’d been hard because, for the first time in his life, his emotions were eluding him like fine specks of sand, running through his fingers the harder he tried to grasp them. Emotionally, Angeal had come to realize he’d been a mess. And aside from their schedules, that had been why it had taken him a month to finally get on a chopper to meet the ex-Turk who had done the same thing only thirty days ago.

Angeal Hewley had never really understood what other people called hot and cold in regards to strangers or pedestrians who simply passed them by. He’d been even more baffled by how they claimed to want a coital relationship with the said strangers. It had been somewhat of a torture when his only best friend was rather adamant about fornicating with everything that walked on two legs and was attractive enough. Physical attraction was rather meaningless to the dark-haired First, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy aesthetics and appreciate beauty. 

It had also been even more heartbreaking to see said redheaded friend chase after something, which he’d later come to realize as mental gratification, only to turn up empty-handed and feeling more hollow and miserable with each affair. If the point of all this was mental gratification, there were so many other simpler activities one could take part in, and even share with others instead of pursuing something that might end up being too damaging both mentally and physically on all parties involved. In the end though, despite his protests, Genesis had refused to break from the abusive cycle until that party that seemed like it was eons ago. 

Vaguely, he wondered if he hadn’t insisted for Sephiroth to come to the party, and later for him to persuade the former General to go and try to make amends with the redhead, they both might have been very much alive. Dismissing the detour his thoughts had taken, he returned to the more important matter at hand.

Genesis had tried introducing him to ‘what he’d been missing out on’ by forcing him to go on a date with a rather pretty brunette, who also had an appealing personality, back when they had been Thirds. Because according to the scarlet-haired man, ‘who wouldn’t want to sleep with an amazing guy like you’. Angeal just couldn’t get the girl’s tear-stricken face out of his head for months. He’d been so averse to bedding her that he’d made a ridiculous mess of himself and their month old relationship. He had rebuffed the older man’s attempts at trying to find him a ‘nice companion’ ever since. Thankfully, Genesis’ affairs and Sephiroth’s arranged dates had been enough for Shinra and the press to leave him alone and in peace.

He had never told his best friend that he had tried going on a date with another man only to fall short when it’d come to sex. And while that had helped him realize that he appreciated the strong physicality of a man more than the shapely figures women cut, the experience and months of contemplation on his own behavior and his views on the subject had been enough for him to know that his problem had nothing to do with intimacy or the other gestures preceding the coitus, but the very act itself. The idea of following through with it made him uncomfortable. He’d rather spend all day lounging around with those individuals or doing other leisurely activities, shared trivial things rather than engage in sexual intercourse. It seemed so dispensable compared to everything. Something he could go possibly go without for the rest of his life. Briefly, he wondered if his lack of deep emotional connection with them had something to do with it.

With the ebony-haired gunslinger, it was different. There was some sort of understanding, something calm and tranquil, and there was simply a lack of judgement between them. It hadn’t been there even when the marksman had confessed to having sired his late silver-haired friend, and to have had promptly decided not to be around to father his progeny. Being around Vincent Valentine was easy for him. Like that day back at the Shinra Manor, he found it easy to trust the older man, and while at first it had been bizarre for him, now he knew why. Angeal had figured it out earlier that-for some unknown reason-he’d earned the ex-Turk’s trust, as well as his respect. And seeing how the older man hadn’t backed away from the duties the newly instated President had assigned to the gunman, the dark-haired soldier couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. 

As far as his constant checkings with Reeve were concerned-which had probably made the new head of the company rather suspicious, and Angeal really couldn’t fault him, because he was pretty certain he’d been blatantly obvious-the gunslinger was managing everything just fine. And to think that the older man had decided to spend a good two decades of his life in a coffin because of guilt seemed so much of a waste, that it made him wish he could travel back in time and say the exact same things before Vincent had put himself inside the coffin. But that was one of those numerous ‘what-if’s and wishes that wouldn’t get him anywhere.

That vein of thought had been surprising as well, because never before had he felt like that about someone else other than his two deceased former comrades; and especially when those circumstances had been something the older man had chosen of his own volition rather than a hand that fate had dealt him unlike Valentine’s progeny’s and his redheaded lover’s.

Furthermore, in regards to recent developments, while it had been awkward with his past two relationships, their first kiss by the door had come naturally. In fact, Angeal had caught himself trying to imagine how it’d feel like for their fingers to intertwine when he’d noticed those pale long digits playing with the teardrop-shaped leaves.  How  he’d been fascinated by them, the contrast of ivory and green…the way those deadly fingers had touched the plant he’d brought the older man had left him entranced and mesmerized...and he just hadn’t been able to look away… Hadn’t been able to stop the curiosity and the  _ want  _ to try and imagine how it’d feel like to kiss those pale lips. That thought and his subsequent act surprised him still, and sometimes he really wished Vincent wouldn’t have asked him that and let the sudden surge of bravado work everything out for them. Thinking back though, he was really glad that the older man had stopped them, because it was entirely possible for the dark-haired First to have backed out at the last minute, and he really didn’t know how he’d be able to look inside those crimson irises again if he had.

He just needed to be honest about himself with Vincent, and if the dark-haired ex-Turk didn’t want them that way, the General would accept and respect that decision. Also, Angeal couldn’t help but think if his feelings for the aforementioned man could affect how far he wanted to go in their relationship. Judging by how his body had been responding that day, he had a slight suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he could make it work if it was something the red-eyed individual desired. But that remained to be seen.

_ “Sir, we’ll be landing in Corel in about five minutes.” _ The pilot informed him through the comm. Angeal pressed the send button. 

True to the airman’s word, they landed just outside the rustic town in five minutes.

The municipality was surrounded by high mountainous terrain on all sides, lodged in the middle of the valley among a jungle of evergreen trees. The former Commander was sure there were underground tunnels running underneath the whole area, as it was famous for its coal mines. The houses were more or less alike in shape and color; walls of red brick and gray gabled roofs with wooden porches and arched windows framed by neatly cut slabs of stone. There was also a water tower rising higher than every other building. Placing one foot ahead of another against the cobblestoned paths, he shifted his rucksack against his shoulder as he flipped open his phone to call the dark-haired gunslinger only to catch a glimpse of a splash of vibrant red against the sepia backdrop of the small town.

He couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his lips as he pressed the call button, his steps closing the distance between him and a crimson cape while the gunman was busy talking with some other members of WRO. Standing somewhere not too far and not too close for Vincent to be able to hear his voice, he watched as golden fingers reached for a sleek black phone that was strapped to the ex-Turk’s waist. 

The older man took a glance at his phone before probably excusing himself and walking a couple of steps away to answer his call, and when blue met crimson irises, the smile on Angeal’s lips reached his eyes. For a moment, the older man looked surprised, but he hid it well by ducking his head to slide his cellular device back into his pocket, at the last moment the ebon-haired ex-Turk appeared to pause...and he pulled the offending item back out and pressed a button, head tilting slightly as he read whatever was on the screen. Again, those rubicund irises cut to him, and this time they were soft...affectionate. 

Vincent then walked back over to the WRO members. Initially, the blue-eyed First was disappointed, but the sensation quickly bled away as it became apparent that he’d only returned to the conversation to excuse himself permanently. The men began walking away, and the crimson-eyed gunslinger turned and strode to Angeal. As he traversed the distance between them, the sunlight caught the fringes of that endless onyx hair...throwing the alabaster of his cheek and the vermilion of his eyes into sharp relief. 

“You’ve made your decision?”

That low, velvety voice was as familiar as ever. The sense of comfort that came with it was equally soothing. Vincent stopped in front of him, throwing his cape over his shoulder and glancing to the right, at a small group of children running by before his gaze refocused on him. Up close, it was hard for Angeal to ignore the urge to hug him. He didn’t think very many people would consider Vincent Valentine huggable but for him, the compulsion was almost impossible to resist. The newly-instated General only managed to restrain himself by tucking his hands deep in his pockets, letting a smile play over his lips. 

Dark, dark lashes lowered somewhat as the older man returned the gesture...almost as if cognizant of his inner struggle. It wasn’t a teasing smirk...it was pure commiseration...pure  _ reassurance.  _ And that was what had drawn him to him in the first place; his ability to understand without driving anything into the ground. Both Sephiroth and Genesis were hell-bent on the concept of being right and wrong...balance was a nigh-impossible facet of their personalities. He supposed that they’d evened each other out in the end...before it had all gone so terribly wrong, but he couldn’t afford to think about that now. 

“It’s good to see you.” Vincent continued, tilting his head. 

Angeal was accosted at the very same time by the urge to take the older man’s hand and intertwine their fingers, and it was overall very strange, in a very good way that seemed rather unbelievable to him. But he again managed to suppress it in favor of a nod, the smile never leaving his lips and it too, was odd because it seemed like he was paying off his smiling debts for the past one and a half month. 

“It’s good to see you too.” The former Commander uttered, looking around as if the path to the inn he was staying at would present itself in red holographic arrows against the stone-paved ground. He wanted to address the matters regarding their relationship sooner so they could agree on an outcome. As much as he was impatient to inform the older man of his decision, he wasn’t comfortable doing it in the rather public setting they were currently surrounded by. “I’m staying at Rancho’s Inn. I really haven’t been before.” The dark-haired soldier cut to the chase. “I think we’d be both more comfortable discussing this in private.” Offering a small smile, he continued. “Considering that you’ve been staying here longer, I think it’d be best you pick the place. Yours or mine?”

Those dark eyes surveyed him consideringly for a moment, as if gauging his surety. A soft breeze filtered in from the pine trees, bringing with it the scent of evergreen. It was, Angeal thought fondly...something he would from then on always associate with the man before him. There was a rustle as his companion turned somewhat before jerking his head towards the direction of Rancho’s. Those gold-plated fingers curled in a  _ ‘lead the way’  _ gesture, and the former Commander was quick on the uptake. They kept their conversation professional as they made the trek. Their talk turned to their respective duties as they passed the quaint, brick houses Angeal had bypassed on his way in. Vincent seemed to have a very good grasp on his tasks, along with the men assigned to help him with such tasks. Initially, the older man had refused any and all help offered to him, but had softened to the idea of having the occasional new recruit stumbling around doing something ‘helpful’ as he put it. The blue-eyed First was more inclined to think of it as ‘amusing’ than ‘helpful.’ It reminded him of when Zack was a cadet, a cadet whom he’d despaired of teaching not to trip over his sword. 

The inn itself was set at the rear of the town with the front end facing the street and the back end looking out over one of three causeways in and out. Rustic, three-storied and somewhat antiquated, the tiled roofing was a bit discolored and weather-worn, but it didn't take away from its authenticity. Traversing rickety-sounding but ultimately sturdy steps, the pair found themselves on a sturdy front porch, exchanging a glance before they went inside. The innkeeper was a kindly old woman who invited them for a cup of tea, but Angeal politely refused, preferring to take the room key and travel several floors up. The hallways leading to each respective room were artistically adorned with simplistic yet somehow intricate stenciling, and the doors were a heavy, warm-stained oak.

Pushing one of the aforementioned objects open, Angeal let Vincent go in first before closing the door behind them. The room itself had a cream colored scheme; with a large Queen bed smothered in a thick down comforter facing two high-backed chairs between which sat an electric fireplace. Directly across from the entrance was a spacious balcony with a glass table and two more chairs of identical design but exterior make. The younger man's belongings had already been brought up and placed at the edge of the bed and for that, he was grateful. There was the noise of the sliding door opening, along with the soft waft of evergreen. Vincent was already on the porch, his cloak and gun discarded over and on one of the interior chairs. Rubicund irises caught his expression and an onyx eyebrow was raised. 

“...Coming?”

Angeal stood there for a moment, as though dazed before the question registered and he automatically stepped toward the balcony, making a short detour on his way to take two bottles of beer from the mini fridge which was housed in a wooden frame atop which sat several extra cushions and a couple of towels. Coming to a stand by the dark-haired ex-Turk, the former Commander twisted the caps open before offering a bottle to the aforementioned man, and then letting his irises roam across the scenery expanding below, all the while enjoying the comfortable silence and the easy auditory atmosphere of being surrounded by nature while gathering his thoughts.

“There is something you should know.” The blue-eyed First spoke, looking down at his drink before taking a swig. “I know this is probably going to sound weird, and you’re the first person I’m coming out to about this but if we want to take our relationship further, it’s your right to know.” Angeal was purposefully avoiding those carmine eyes, but he could feel the weight of their gaze against his consciousness. He opted to stare at the floorboards as he tried to explain instead, deciding to forgo pleasantries and head straight to the point. “Sex is-for the lack of a better term-strange for me.” There was an urge to shuffle his feet against the ground, but he suppressed it as he continued. “I can try and rationalize how and why other people want to do it, but to me, it’s like any other need. Like eating; it might be a fancy meal but that’s just about it.” Looking at the pine trees that seemed to go on forever before they reached the mountains, the General added. “That being said, I really haven’t had a deep connection to anyone before you, mentally, romantically. I really did enjoy kissing you, and I’ve been  _ thinking  _ about other things…” Angeal could feel a warmth creeping up his neck and heating up his cheeks as his own free hand rose to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “It’s just that I’m not sure I want to consummate our relationship like others do, and if you can’t see us working out this way, I understand and I’m going to respect your decision.”

Vincent was silent for a moment, and the younger man chanced a glance to his right. Crimson eyes regarded the evergreens before them with equal solemness...though, to his relief, Angeal didn’t sense any judgement or derisiveness behind his lack of speech. Long, leather-encased fingers inched along the guardrail; slow...contemplative and unhurried. They slid over the surface like a dark shadow; the soft hiss of cloth and metal a negligent thing. The ex-Turk exhaled in a rush, before he reached over to the gold-plated hand at his side, fingers digging inward somewhat. There was the soft  **_*click*_ ** of a latch mechanism catching and Angeal watched with a kind of bewildered astonishment as the hand fell away from its owner, became a separate physical entity. Carefully, the rubicund-eyed individual turned...placing it on the table behind them and rotating backwards slowly, almost reluctantly...until he and the former Commander were face-to-face. Raising his good hand to his mouth, he peeled the glove off with his teeth before throwing it to the side as well. Long, pale fingers wrapped around the remains of what-Angeal assumed-had once been a fully functional limb. It appeared to end just above where the elbow would begin...swathed in black fabric, those opposing ivory digits coming up to cup what remained...almost as if to hide it. 

“Hojo’s experiments took a toll.” He said quietly, nearly idly. “By the time Lucrecia figured out how to harness Chaos, I was rotting away. Flawed...or so I told myself.” The older man tilted his head, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. “But flaws are perceived ideations...something society tells us is different, and so different is wrong. I don’t think that’s the way I want to look at the world.” Dark lashes dusted over alabaster cheeks. “I don’t need you to be here for me the way others might...I’m older than I look, the physical aspects of relationships pale in comparison to the emotional aspects. I don’t need your body to love your mind.” A shrug. “Or, your soul, if you want to look at it that way. What we shared I enjoyed, I won’t deny it, and I’m glad you enjoyed it as well. But I’m not fourteen, I’m not incapable of reigning in my emotions.” Another sigh. “That being said, I appreciate you being forthright, I know that...admitting personal things can be difficult.” 

By the time the crimson-eyed man’s last sentence ended, Angeal couldn’t stop a smile from playing over his lips. It was a small thing, nothing too bright but no less genuine. Taking off his gloves without ever breaking eye contact with the gunman standing in front of him, the former Commander came to realize he was in love with Vincent. And what was love but the very same things that had been flourishing between them, steadily, becoming stronger with each passing day? What was love but a deep mutual understanding, a deep-seated respect,  _ acceptance  _ and a desire, a  _ longing _ that plagued his every hour to spend more time in the company of the other? 

He was fairly sure that if Genesis was here, he’d laugh and tell him to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve, quite literally and figuratively at the same time.

Closing the distance between them, he reached  tentatively for the hand that was cradling the amputated limb, his sky blue irises following his own movements as he prised those fingers reverently before intertwining them with his own. Angeal  _ wanted _ to put his hand where Vincent’s had been only moments ago, but he didn’t. It was partly because he wasn’t sure if it’d be well-received, but mostly it was because, in his opinion, it was something sacred; it was a sign of what the older man had gone through, the physical manifestation of years lost and dreams shattered, of pains endured and hardships overcome. And he wasn’t sure if he was worthy enough to brush his fingers against it, yet. So instead, he tangled his free hand in the exquisite soft fall of ebony tresses, running his fingers through them as he looked up, his eyes taking in those gorgeous features before bringing their lips together in a slow, sensual but no less heated kiss.

Similarly to the time before, Vincent stilled for a moment, and it was with a rush of warmth that the younger man realized that he was giving him time to pull away if he needed to. Then, gradually, those soft, smooth lips began to respond to his ministrations. Carefully at first, caught on the edge of a stillness that seemed to shiver down into his very soul. It was like looking down into a well filled with water...smooth as glass, clear as summer, bright as midday. Dimly, Angeal was aware of the fact that the raven-haired man’s mouth was initially cool, but it did not remain so. Even as the exchange of their kiss remained chaste, there was the subtle influx of heat...brought forth on the wings of a stuttered inhale as smooth fingertips curled against the contour of his jaw...as he became aware that he’d drawn his companion closer without really thinking about it. Moreover, the newly-instated General had let his hand trail up what remained of the older man’s arm, fingers grasping a strong shoulder. At this, Vincent shuddered, his eyes dropped to half-mast and the nuance of the kiss deepened. 

And it wasn’t like he was  _ used  _ to feeling these emotions, this swirl of muted but powerful heat, this surge of desirous tide that seemed to want to encompass everything he was. Angeal reigned it in, took control of it because he didn’t want to push too hard and then not be able to deliver. It was  _ hard,  _ what with the way those slender fingers left his face to thread through his hair, digits scraping somewhat against his scalp before descending to rest at the nape of his neck. It was hard with the way Vincent seemed to respond to everything he did...automatically, seemingly without thought. And it was hard with the way his affection for the other man seemed to want to spill over in a glorious waterfall of physical appreciation...with the way his body wanted to move, to receive and give. Exhaling through his nose, the younger man let his right hand ascend to drown in a waterfall of onyx; silky, seemingly seamless locks slithering like ebon phantoms across his palm. Again, his partner shuddered and this time there was the flicker of a tongue against his lower lip; undeniably hot, Vincent made a soft sound in the back of his throat-mostly a hitch of breath-and then he pulled away. He didn’t, however, move away...he simply lowered his head until it rested against the blue-eyed soldier’s shoulder, his breathing ragged.

“You need to tell me when I’m going too far.” He muttered, fingers clenching over Angeal’s bicep. 

And it was kind of difficult to see those ruby gems disappear because the older man was obviously trying to reign in his emotions, his responses because of everything the dark-haired First had told him earlier. It spoke volumes to him, and it wasn’t because he hadn’t believed Vincent’s words from earlier, but because it was so easy to lose yourself in the heat of the moment; and how long had the ex-Turk gone without human connections? Presumably more than two decades. So far, the man currently in his arms had been doing a far better job at their relationship and keeping true to his words, and Angeal could only imagine how hard it must be to go from a total lack of something to being surrounded by it, be it simple day to day social interactions, or deeper intimate ones. 

He actively tried to push away that vein of thought that was him finding even more similarities between the crimson-eyed gunman and his silver-haired friend. 

Hooking his fingers underneath the alabaster of a pointed chin, Angeal gently tried to make the older man look at him, a smile stemming from a deep well of emotion inside him fluttered in his blue irises as Vincent raised his head and their gazes met. “I don’t want you to reign in yourself and restrain your emotions because of what I told you.” His fingers busied themselves with the first button on the collar of the ex-Turk’s black shirt, bringing his lips close enough to touch but not to kiss as he whispered somewhat huskily. “I drew the line at sex, but I will tell you if anything else was making me uncomfortable. So please, don’t hold yourself back, okay?” 

Those scarlet irises followed his fingers, pale cerise lips parting seemingly unconsciously. When Vincent's focus returned to Angeal's face it was a mask of careful consideration...of rumination and a hint of patient tenderness. The brush of breath across his visage was warm, singularly inviting, singularly the individual before him. He chased the kiss that retreated as quickly as it encroached, as it became a series of fast, hurried connections that swiftly parted before the General threw caution to the wind and slid his tongue cautiously through the part of flushed lips. Not very far, just enough so it could slide over the edge of the bottommost incisors. Vincent stiffened and another one of those delicious shivers seemed to course through him before he responded with equal-if not more-fervor. Fingers threaded into his hair as tongues twined, thrust forward to lap before retreating to nip the edges of trembling vermilions. The button under the blue-eyed soldier's hand popped free and he let his fingers dance over the pale slope of the older man's throat. Pulling back, he raised questioning eyebrows. 

It seemed to take Vincent a moment to realize he was asking for permission to touch him elsewhere. He was-veritably-a distracted wreck and there was something utterly thrilling about being able to pull someone so determinedly serious to such levels of debauchery so easily; but he didn't let himself get smug about it. When his green light came in the form of a jerky nod, Angeal lowered his lips to mouth softly at the hollow where neck met sternum; letting his tongue flicker out intermittently before sucking gently, letting his other hand twine with the former Turk’s. Vincent stiffened, made another choked sound and fingers twined with his and stiffened-flexed sporadically-even as that black-leather swathed body jerked forward-hesitated-as if unsure of exactly what to do with itself. Another button was conquered and the former Commander let his tongue travel downwards...relishing the feel of the skin beneath...the scent of the individual breathing heavily above him, yards of onyx hair spilling over the nape of his neck before he was drawn inexorably upwards into a hard, deep kiss. Those crimson irises were glazed with something unnameable, dark lashes framing fire as the older man licked hungrily into his mouth...as if he couldn't possibly get enough…as if the elixir of life was merely wrought in his lips and not in the stars.

The flames burning in those eyes roused an equally fiery desire inside him that he hadn’t really experienced before, and as much as it was overwhelming and somewhat frightening in its intensity, Angeal simply couldn’t help but give into it. His fingers renewed their efforts in divesting the older man of the shirt he was wearing, fumbling distractedly over the buttons before he could actually make progress to the next one. And he wanted to touch the vast expanse of ivory that was slowly revealing itself to him, he wanted to feel the texture of the pale skin beneath his palms and the mixture of moan and groan that bubbled up his throat only to spill over betwixt their passionate intermittent kisses wasn’t really voluntary.

A part of him wanted to rid Vincent of the too many clothes that he wore right here up on the balcony, so he could just watch, just touch and commit the masculinity of the ex-Turk’s physicality to his memory. But then something, some small voice in him didn’t want to share the revelation with the rest of the world. It was probably something Zack would call old school and old-fashioned, and probably for once, something that Genesis would- _ would have _ -agreed on with the jovial First; but that was just who he was.

Pulling back slowly and resurfacing from the sea of desirous touches and emotions, Angeal leaned his forehead against the soft maroon headband that covered Vincent’s, a breathless smile stretching across his lips as the newly instated General caught his breath before speaking. “Maybe we should go back inside?”

The silence between them was broken by the gradually steadying ingress and egress of air between them as pale long fingers rose leisurely to his left shoulder strap, pushing it down over his shoulder along with the pauldron attached to it before repeating it with the other side, scarlet irises tracing the path Vincent’s hand had taken while Angeal followed the movement with his own blue eyes, and when the shoulder-guards were dangling from his harness on the sides of his legs, he couldn’t help but reflexively roll his shoulders, the desire to rub them born out of his habituality quelled when the same hand closed around his left shoulder and squeezed, firmly and yet in a tender gesture. Understanding...unspoken, and yet there...and the way it was seamless, almost effortless between the two of them left him breathless...Yet again, those lips closed over his before his companion drew back again...eyes flickering to the other residential balconies on either side before he nodded. 

“We should.” He replied, voice low. 

The gunslinger seemed a bit lost then, hand hovering, gaze retreating. Carefully, the blue-eyed First placed his hands on either side of a leather-clad waist, keeping his pace gradual so the older man could pull back before rotating so his companion's back was facing the entryway. Angeal then began the slow task of walking them backwards, kissing all the while… ‘till he was forced to lift one of his hands so he could open the sliding door, keeping pace as they went through and closing it behind them. In the relative silence of the room...free from the ambience nature provided, their exchange seemed multiplied tenfold; the scrape of buckles and leather, the whisper of palms against smooth flesh. Vincent's shirt hit the floor with a soft  **_*thump*_ ** . The former Commander let his hands explore the body revealed to him, let his fingers dig into the soft skin just above the hips before moving upward. Crimson eyes watched him, leaning somewhat on the wall just before the exit to the porch; the only indication of his arousal the rise and fall of alabaster shoulders. 

That and a ravenous mouth.

Vincent kissed like he was determined to wring every secret from his lips, like his tongue was an ambrosia he couldn't get enough of. His fingers were words wrought on pages of epidermis, scrawling indiscernible hieroglyphs down his back before returning to the muscle of his shoulder and squeezing again. When Angeal's calloused digits flicked idly over a nipple he watched as that head of onyx hair tilted back, as that mouth parted only to close and sink into the plush curve of a lower lip. Scarlet eyes flashed and suddenly Vincent was very,  _ very _ close, one leg slung over his waist. Here, again, he paused, and those irises sought his again...looked deep into them as if searching for something he might find without asking. Then...slowly, carefully, the older man ground up into him; the full contours of his body apparent as the first dusting of color suffused his cheeks.

“Good?” was the carefully controlled query. 

And Angeal wanted to tell that it was more than good, amazing in fact but apparently his thought process had short-circuited. Looking down at where Vincent had ground into him only moments ago before catching those ruby gems that might as well have been on fire, the dark-haired First flicked the older man’s nipples with his thumbs again, watching with an amused smile and heated flushed cheeks as the gunslinger jerked up against him yet again, the motion somewhat involuntary. Kneading the pale smooth flesh in his hands, the General’s big palms swept down lean sides to grip his companion’s hips before claiming those perfect sanguine lips in a slow but deep kiss. 

It was his turn to mouth against those luxurious soft curves, to nip at them and tease them just with the tip of an adroit tongue until the marksman yielded, parting his lips and closing them over his and it was just so heady; to feel those nimble fingers leave their post in his onyx hair to trail down the back of his black knitted turtleneck and lower still, they seemed to be working there against his lower back and the next moment his harness fell to the ground with a loud thud that made Vincent jump, breaking their lip-lock. Chuckling, Angeal didn’t wait for the older man to recover. Hooking his opposite arm under the leg that was slung over his waist, the soldier hoisted the ex-Turk up, supporting those broad ivory shoulders with his other hand as the crimson-eyed man yelped before reaching for his neck to steady himself. 

Placing a kiss among the soft ebony tresses as he carried the gunman to the bed, he couldn’t help but muse briefly if they were moving too fast for the dark-haired ex-Turk. So when he gently put Vincent back down and settled on the edge of the bed himself, Angeal couldn’t help but take that pale palm in his hand to bestow a kiss just above the ball of an alabaster hand as he whispered. “You need to tell me if we’re moving too fast.”

Those crimson irises considered him for a second before partially disappearing under raven-colored lashes. It occurred to Angeal-in a distracted sort of muddle-that Vincent spoke more with his gestures than with his voice. In a time far-removed, when he was lying in his bunk in the barracks and listening to Genesis ravish whatever victim he’d selected for that night...he was always terribly, painfully,  _ horribly  _ conscious of the way the older man yammered on about what exactly he was going to do. It wasn’t so with the individual before him; every facet of his companion’s persona was born in physical expression...in the way his fingers mapped his skin, as if he was exploring an unknown landscape of exotic and mystical proportions. Propping himself up on his elbow, the ex-Turk chased his mouth for a moment before realizing he’d been asked a question. A pink tongue flickered over his lips as he appeared to process what was said. Then, slowly, he lowered himself back onto the mattress, lifting his hand to pull the maroon headband from his hair. The former Commander felt a shiver run down his spine as ebon-colored locks spilled over milk-pale shoulders; as the body before him auscultated somewhat, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of the younger man’s fatigues. 

“It’s not too fast.” He murmured.

He jerked upwards a bit before Angeal relented, crawling onto the mattress over him; one arm maintaining a small amount of space between them as he leaned down to capture that mouth again. The scarlet-gazed gunslinger’s fingers were fumbling desperately at his own pants, as if he couldn’t decide whom he wanted to further undress first. The blue-eyed soldier took things into his own hands and pulled back a little more so he could begin the process of tugging his companion’s bottoms down. It was slow work, coupled with multiple pauses filled with distracted kissing and touching. It took the recently-instated General a moment to work past staring at the beautiful cock that emerged from a sea of leather and kevlar. Flushed, somewhat slick and proportionate…the younger man let his fingers trail almost idly from base to tip; his lips parting as Vincent arched, as a moan fell from his lips. Further, he observed, as a pearlescent droplet formed at the head; quivered as the body below undulated into his touch and became a milky-translucent rivulet of fluid that disappeared between his fingers.

Two somewhat impatient legs kicked and the ebon-haired ex-Turk’s pants were thrown to the floor to join the headband. This time, Angeal was forced to take the opportunity to observe; to touch and taste. He retreated to let his palms slide over the arch of feet...curled them about calves and up to dig into creamy thighs. The body spread before him was muscular but not overly so; lithe and somehow so virile. If he hadn’t known Vincent’s age he might have assumed he was younger than him. As it was, he marveled at the smoothness of the gunslinger’s skin, at the way it went from pale to slightly flushed...trembling under his palms as he kneaded it with a kind of delirious, desirous focus that seemed to steal the breath from both of their lungs. Finding the soft dip beneath a blushing earlobe, the blue-eyed soldier let his mouth explore idly, his tongue lapping up the musk that was singularly the man before him as those pale fingers threaded through his hair and pressed gently, as if half-heartedly trying to keep him there. 

“Angeal.” Vincent muttered, and it was a distracted, ragged yet breathless sort of exhalation...as if he wasn’t entirely cognizant of the fact that he’d even said it. 

A shudder ran down his spine and it just became a lot harder to keep the breath-width of distance between them. Ducking his head and burying it amidst the angry halo of onyx tresses to catch his breath, Angeal then covered Vincent’s elegant fingers with his own, plucking them and lifting his head just so he could press those fingertips against his lips. One by one, he kissed them before enveloping the fore and middle in his mouth. There was a rush of breath against his right ear, the gunslinger bucking up against him, and the corners of his lips quirked upwards in a shadow of a smile as he sucked on the older man’s fingers, laving at them with his tongue before guiding the moist digits between them. Letting his mouth ghost over a flushed ear, the former Commander whispered, his voice ragged. “I want you to touch yourself.” 

And with that he curled those slick fingers around Vincent’s straining cock, covering the hand with his own.

“Angeal.” The crimson-eyed man muttered, and he didn’t seem to need to continue his sentence because Angeal somehow understood and raised his head, catching that brilliant gaze with his own and smiling reassuringly before ensnaring the cerise bow of the ex-Turk’s lips with his own. Somewhere in between their languid kisses-that had started close-mouthed but now were a heated slide of tongue against tongue, of nipping and sucking on plush kiss-swollen lips and playful bites-the hand enveloped in his had started moving, a moan getting lost betwixt their heated breaths. And the dark-haired First pulled away, eyes downcast as he watched the engorged head of the older man’s erection vanishing between firm broad strokes only to reappear slick and oozing with precum.

A groan rumbled up Angeal’s throat and he latched onto the hollow where Vincent’s jaw met his neck, leaving a trail of hot, suckling and open-mouthed kisses before closing his lips against the strong pulse point next to the ex-Turk’s jugular notch. With his both hands, the blue-eyed soldier gripped the alabaster flesh of his companion’s sides, big calloused palms exploring the angular hard-soft facets of the physicality writhing under him. Sucking hard enough to bruise, smiling at the way the older man moaned and arched off the bed-and also because he remembered that the collar of that tattered crimson cape would be high enough to hide it-the General moved lower, his mouth never leaving the map of the gunman’s body as though it was something sacred, as though by doing so he’d be bestowed with mystical sacraments that would bring him bliss, and maybe it would. 

Scarlet irises watched his exploration as if enthralled, as if the exploration of his lips and tongue was the most masterful of performances wrought before him. Sapphire eyes observed hungrily as the adam’s apple in that pale column of a throat bobbed convulsively, as the expression before him became less ravenously observant and more desirously focused. Those lithe hips snapped once-twice before Vincent abruptly paused, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, dark brows drawn together as he appeared to try to reign in his orgasm. A part of Angeal didn’t want him to do that, wanted to watch as he was thrown into the apex of pleasure; silent and undulating on ivory sheets. The scent of arousal between them was a heady drug, rolling thick over the tongue. It was equally obvious that the crimson-eyed ex-Turk wanted to share that pleasure with him...his gaze kept flickering down to the painfully obvious bulge in his pants...the expression crossing his visage plaintive every time he did. At the same time, the former Commander wasn’t entirely sure that he was ready for that, and a part of him felt somewhat guilty that he’d let it get so far before making it clear that he wasn’t quite confident with the concept of reciprocation. While he was busy having a crisis about this, a hot mouth latched onto his jaw...sucking softly before retreating.

“It’s okay.” The older man muttered. “You don’t have to.”

Smiling, Angeal felt his heart might burst from how receptive and understanding the individual lying under him was. The small upturn of lips he received in return was enough to make his head spin. Those lithe fingers began to move over that flushed, warm cock again and this time it was clear that the perpetrator behind the gesture was working towards a finite end. Sitting back somewhat, the blue-eyed soldier ignored the ache in his own groin as a low groan spilled from that beautiful mouth, as a dark river of hair was thrown back, as the body before him began to move in earnest. Letting his hand trail forward, the younger man let fluctuant digits brush over the weeping head of the gunslinger’s erection, bringing them to his lips to suck the faint hint of bitter precome from his fingertips. The moan that followed this was louder, crimson eyes widened and then descended to burning scarlet slits; the subsequent noise that left cerise lips was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. A river of pearly white suffused an alabaster abdomen, trailing between still-working fingers in ivory ribbons. Vincent’s spine arched before he exhaled raggedly, lips searching blindly before Angeal met them somewhere in the middle. 

“ _ Yes. _ ” was the mumbled exclamation. 

The dark-haired First couldn’t help but feel pleased as he watched his companion descend from the heights of pleasure, couldn’t help but move toward the head of the bed and tangle his hands in the pool of ebony locks before laying a lingering kiss on the forehead that had been hidden by a maroon headband previously until he could feel the weight of a rubicund gaze against his psyche. Vincent’s arousal and his unraveling had been just as beautiful as everything else about the individual currently in his arms, and Angeal was really really happy that he’d been able to bring the same joy, albeit different in nature to the older man. 

There was a niggling voice in the back of his head, trying to guilt-trip him into thinking that maybe Vincent would feel bad about him not joining him, that maybe he was withholding for selfish reasons or that the older man might think he hadn’t been enough to bring out anything desirous in him. It was hard to resist feeling inadequate over something that was so widely accepted and expected. And he wondered briefly, if these negative thoughts and feeling could somehow feed into something similar in the ex-Turk…that they could take away from the tangibility of the time they had shared. But then again, the crimson-eyed individual had stated his consent… He’d told him that he didn’t need that kind of thing from him…

The problem in his pants was really just that; a problem. Normally, if he was alone and had somehow, for some reason, become aroused, he would have taken a shower or just taken care of it quickly and efficiently. But right now, he just wanted to stay where he was, content to be beside the onyx-haired man who was patiently waiting for him to meet his eyes. He didn’t want those ruminations, those perceived flaws that society and its norms had instilled in him ruin this for him and his companion. So, he pushed them aside when he did, held onto the acceptance and understanding, that same lack of judgement from before, and thus he couldn’t help but feel the exact same sensation of his heart exploding; he wanted to give voice to it, to tell Vincent how he felt. 

The imagery of an afternoon in Genesis’ now bereft apartment flashed in his mind, of a declaration that had been met by his rather stern words of advice, and the former Commander wondered if his former comrades had felt then like Angeal was feeling now. He wondered if in the world that they were reforming and reshaping, it’d still be something dangerous for a General of the Shinra army to fall in love with someone who was likely going to be an executive probably in relative future-not that the blue-eyed soldier was certain that Vincent would accept such offer-but still just the same. And he  _ wanted _ his friends to be alive now; to be able to declare their love for each other, to not need to worry about regulations and protocol, to go on dates without having the Administration breathing down their necks and Hojo lurking at every corner-...!

-A thumb was brushing the side of his face insistently. 

Charcoal framed rubies were watching him with a mixture of understanding and worry, and Angeal’s calloused fingers drowned themselves into the cascade of starless night sky, leaning their foreheads together as he smiled reassuringly, before kissing those lips, ephemeral and chaste.

Right here, right now, he was ultimately happy. He was happy that he had been able to persuade the older man to leave his self-imposed incarceration. He was happy that he had taken the leap back inside Vincent’s studio a month ago, and he was feeling blissed simply holding the dark-haired gunman close. 

“I love you.” was the joyous whisper.

Again, the man below him stilled, those eyes seeking his and gazing into them as if searching for something deep and wordless. Gradually, the digit at his cheek began its slow, rotational movements once again. Those lips parted to permit a soft, shaky exhale before closing once more. That lithe form shifted, drew up against the headboard...away from him and for a moment the younger man feared the worst. Rejection was a slow, insidious fear in his belly...inundating his veins in a kind of cold poison. There was a rustle as his companion pulled several tissues from the box on the nightstand, wiping himself down perfunctorily. Then, that arm was urging him upwards...so he was pillowed against the older man's chest as those long legs settled at his hips. Fingers carded through his hair before resting at his throat, pressing downward somewhat as if searching for his pulse. Angeal allowed it because it wasn't a threatening gesture…more a reassuring one; as if the scarlet-eyed man was seeking to calm him rather than encroach upon him. 

“Thank you.”

Vincent's voice was tired, exhausted really...tinged with the edge of terrible regret. There was no tension in his limbs, merely a sense of aggrieved resignation, as if the older man expected him to recoil at such a response. Somewhat indignantly, the blue-eyed First wondered who had ever told the older man that reticence was equivocal to immediate rejection. It was painful to watch, especially the withdrawal that followed. In the throes of pleasure, the onyx-haired gunslinger was like a flower unfolding in the sun. Now it was as if he was wilting...fallow on the stem as his nearness became more unhappy and less harmonious.

“Thank you.” was the repeated sentiment. “But...I can’t return your feelings.” When Angeal didn’t reply, he hurried onwards...as if concerned that if he left it lie too long that the younger man might just get up and disappear. “I can’t return them because I don’t want to give you the impression of something I don’t have.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what love feels like, I don’t know if I’ve ever known what it feels like. Sometimes-” Crimson eyes cut to his and there was a hint of panic in them. “Sometimes I think that with Lucrecia...it was there, but at the same time I don’t think love should be built on this…” Those aquiline features screwed up as if in pain. “This constant  _ fear,  _ this need to assuage, to pursue and to hope for something that might never be. It’s hard to separate that from what we have, because it’s the only version of ‘love’ I’ve ever known. I don’t want to inconvenience you by forcing those preconceived concepts on you.” The thumb on his cheek was joined by two other fingers, which began stroking in tandem. “I care about you.” Vincent murmured. “Deeply. But until I can decipher the definition of what this is...separate it from what I’ve known...I won’t do you the disservice of giving you an impression of something I can’t define.” Dark locks obscured that beautiful visage as he bowed his hand. “I understand if this isn’t enough for you, and I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression of something greater. It was not my intent. I want this, but I want it openly and honestly.”

Lifting his head so their eyes were level with each other, so that the older man could see that it was the truth, plain and simple as Angeal answered, covering those fine digits with his hand before holding them, a calloused thumb brushing against the soft skin of Vincent’s wrist. “I didn’t utter them in hopes of you returning the sentiment. My emotions aren’t-”  _ as complex and as convoluted as Genesis’ _ , he wanted to say, but didn’t, continuing. “Really that complex. It was something that I wanted to tell you, that I  _ needed _ to tell you, just to give voice to what I was feeling.” Looking down, he paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he added. “I know you care for me, and that’s really enough.” Sapphire irises returned to the observing crimson gaze, his hand holding the marksman’s a little tighter. “Really, it’s more than enough because you’ve given me your respect, honesty and an understanding that I could have only dreamt of, and for that, I’m entirely grateful.”

Bringing his companion’s hand to his lips, he placed a kiss against the pale palm. “I know you are more than capable of dealing with your thoughts and whatever this is, I just want you to know that I’m standing beside you. And I know that you don’t need someone to lean on.” A small reassuring smile tugged on his lips. “And I’m not waiting for you to say those words back to me. I don’t want you to feel like you’re withholding by not reciprocating, like you owe me something. You don’t. Your acceptance is all I need, and all you are all that would make me happy.” Repeating the gesture he had done at the start of his speech, he smiled a little more. “That being said, I’m a patient man, so take as much time as you need.”

The flush that spread across those cheeks as he kissed slender fingers was beautiful, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he settled somewhat into the warmth of the body curled around him and closed his eyes. It wasn't long before he was swiftly descending into unconsciousness...dreams licking threateningly at the edges of his psyche before he attempted to unsuccessfully bat them away. Vincent shifted somewhat, settling back into the pillows and pulling the comforter up and about them. There was a slow, deep sigh and then silence. Just as he was about to drift off, the older man spoke...and it was his words that followed him into the somnolent unknown...

“...I might not need much time at all.”


	9. Chapter Nine

Black. Black all around.

G walked on forward, despite how bizarre it all was. He’d expected to fall when he’d taken the first step.

The all-encompassing pain that followed his every movement was absent, and instead, there was a throbbing ache inside his chest that kept intensifying with each step, blooming, flowering and expanding like an inferno throughout his torso. Wincing and gritting his teeth, he pushed on, never stopping. 

In front of him, there was a tiny speck of light, getting imperceptibly bigger.

Suddenly, there was the sound of someone sobbing coming from behind him. Turning around, his eyes could make out the shape of a boy hugging his knees, but the details were obscured by waves of darkness that swirled around him. The sound grew marginally louder, echoing around him. Looking over his shoulder, he glanced at the bright dot of lightness that pierced through the black like a ray of hope. There was some strange invisible force pulling him toward the prone figure in front of him, and he was torn. Some small voice was whispering in the back of his head that the brightness at the end was his only way out, but there was another part of him-the one that was adamant about figuring out who he was, who he had been-that told him to stay. Why? G didn’t know.

Taking a hesitant step toward the boy, the light snuffed out, swallowed by the tendrils of black.

And the boy was still crying.

Not having any other way anymore, he stepped forward, the darkness moving away, slowly revealing more about his only companion in this strange place.

He had short auburn hair, shoulders shaking with each sob that wracked his tiny frame, and as he grew nearer, G could see that they were in some room, whereas they’d been surrounded by utter black only moments ago. Pivoting on his heel, the older man looked around, seeing a simple white bed, matching desk and a white  _ wardrobe? _

And then, there was a window in the wall next to the redheaded child. 

_ “Look in my eyes and it’s like you’ve seen the sky.” _

The words echoed around them, and the boy looked up, at him. And he had the bluest eyes G had ever seen, the bluest eyes…

A wave of pain washed over him, nearly making him double over, but he kept his eyes trained on the kid, watching as he slowly stood up and took a step forward. And then another, and then another.

By the time G’s back hit the wall behind him, there was a young man standing in front of him with flamboyant fiery hair, a handsome face, and eyes the color of the sky in the earliest hours of a day in  _ spring _ .

The redhead reached forward, pressing a hand against his chest, right at the source of his agony, and then and there a stabbing pain shot through him, making him jolt backwards against the wall. Something wet and warm started spreading where the palm was, but G couldn’t still tear his gaze away, his eyes widening in astonishment as the seam of those perfect lips turned red and soon carmine was trickling down a pale chin.

The hand rose. And there was a hole in his uniform where his blood was gushing out, his heart beating faster and faster. Looking up with even more bewilderment, his companion was covering half of his face with the same hand, a corner of his bloodied lips quirking downwards and the air shifted around them, a massive ebony wing tearing through flesh and bone and curling reflexively downwards.

The wall gave away behind him, and G dropped backwards with a yelp, staring, as the man in front of him, too, dropped to his knees. 

There was a shuffle to his right, and looking sharply up, it seemed they were in another room now. And someone was behind the door at his back.

In front of him, right behind the younger man was another figure, slowly manifesting out of tendrils of black.

“Genesis.” A deep voice murmured at the door. G’s breath hitched in his throat because that was the same voice from before. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

Looking to and fro, G couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of foreboding descend in the room to settle inside his very bones and twist in his gut. Without a good logical reason, he found himself wanting to stand upright, to push against the door, but he didn’t, a small voice telling him it was no use.

Someone started sobbing again, the sound echoing off the walls, and his attention returned to the scene unraveling in front of him.

A palm slammed down between the shoulder blades of the young man in front of him and a scream nearly bubbled up G’s throat only to be stifled in the bud.

“Please, I love you. I don’t understand; help me to understand.” The deep voice at the door spoke again but G wasn’t paying it any heed.

The silvery tresses of the man atop the redhead obscured his face, and the throbbing ache started expanding in his chest, intensifying with each moment, with each pained whimper of the scarlet-haired man, and the sobbing around them turned to agonized screams. A foreign feeling of dampness rolled down his cheeks, and bringing his fingertips to his skin, G stared disbelieving at them as they returned slick with  _ tears? _

“ _ You did this. _ ”

And it was the same deep voice. Looking up, a pair of blazing emerald eyes were gazing at him, through him, filled with so much rage, so much despair and hate, and the screaming intensified and it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest beating and bleeding, but the silver-haired man wasn’t looking away. Gazing at him, vengeful and bitter and G couldn’t stop as more tears ran down his cheeks as he held that beryl gaze with his own, his lips moving of their own accord to form soundless words, again and again as the green-eyed man took the redhead mercilessly, and finally-...

“ _ Sephhhh-... _ ”

“ _ Sephiroth STOP! _ ” G screamed. “ _ STOP! _ ” Over and over and over until he was hoarse and the world shattered around him, shards of glass exploding in the darkness surrounding him, scraping against his face and tangling in his hair, imbedding themselves into his flesh as he fell to his hands and knees.

“ _ Stop… just. Stop… Please... _ ”

Darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

Voices were whispering above him, too far away and echoing off the walls in his brain. 

_ “He’s our only shot at defeating the Restrictors.”  _ G recognized that it was Argento’s voice.

_ “How do you know they didn’t put a chip inside him like everyone else?”  _ This one was masculine, commandeering; he hadn’t heard it before.

_ “Because he was dead when they brought him here. Have you forgotten how they let him out of the labs for duels only to drag his half-dead body back inside?”  _ And it was Argento again.

_ “That’s why I’m asking how you’re sure he’s different.”  _ The stranger spoke, sounding a bit amused and at the same time irritated.

_ “There’s only one way to find out.”  _ His personal trainer of sorts answered.

For a moment, it seemed that they had stopped talking, and he’d finally be able to descend back into the sea of darkness they had somewhat pulled him away from. But that was until calloused fingers settled against his brow, the touch barely there, and while a part of him wanted to jolt awake and swat that hand away, he didn’t; his reasoning that they had just claimed G was their only chance against these Restrictors, whoever they were, not included. It was really easy for him to act like he was still asleep. He’d picked up that skill when he figured out that they’d throw him in to fight one of those bizarre monsters when they knew he was awake; not that it gave him much of a respite considering all the stuff they had strapped onto him to monitor his every condition.

“Do you think it’d make a difference if he knew he was our brother?” The stranger queried, and judging by how close his voice was, he was the one touching his face. It took every ounce of his physical and mental resources to stay as he’d been, because,  _ brother? _

Silence settled around him, but there was nothing soothing about it.

“You didn’t know?” There was a short haughty laugh before the stranger continued. “Don’t look so surprised. I always heard them talking about it in the labs when they still used to  _ torture _ us. Me, Nero and Rosso. Together… we would be unstoppable.” And there was that laugh again.

“But Emperor, you don’t share…” Argento’s voice was hesitant, fading in the background, and G could feel himself being pulled under as more images resurfaced in his mind, this time clearer…

_ … “Gillian’s cells were administered to you when you were an infant, while Angeal was born naturally. That’s why you’re degrading. Your genome is unstable because your body’s rejecting those cells-...” A stout man was talking, his tongue tripping over the words as a red-clad fist clutched the collars of his white coat harder-... _

_...-“I’m dying.” It was his voice. He could see those silver tresses in the corner of his eyes and he wanted to look up, to confirm that it was the same bastard, but this body wasn’t obeying him, and he had to hear himself speak once more. “The wound’s not going to heal. It’s going to get worse.”-... _

_ …-He could see a bright light in his peripheral vision, twisting around a barely visible gloved hand as it moved forward, and there, right in front of him, there was the same silver-haired man and a new face, someone vaguely associated with kindness… And wasn’t that a bizarre notion? It made his chest ache in a different, entirely bizarre way to look at the dark-haired man in front of him and then an excruciating pain tore through his left shoulder-... _

G screamed, jolting upright.

“Good, you’re awake.” Argento spoke, leaning to the far wall to his right, hands resting on the pommel of the hilt of her sword where it was standing against its tip against the ground. “I have a mission for you. But first, we need to get you ready.”

Something rose up in him, a strange feeling that was foreign and yet at the same time wholly familiar; dark, intoxicating. Another snippet flashed in front of his eyes.

_....“Sephiroth, Shinra is a tyranny… the war with Wutai… they were using us, using you. If they win, there will be no escaping them…” Long fingers curled around pale hands and he was face to face with the silver-haired man again. “We won’t be able to be free.”... _

“Argento.” G whispered, his voice not at all betraying what was going on in his head, not at all betraying all the memories he’d been starting to recover. Moving to sit at the edge of the metal ledge in what appeared to be some room that he’d never seen before, or at least didn’t remember, he stared at the ground between where his legs were dangling. “There’s so much I don’t know about here. Rosso made me realize that, and then there was Nero. What kind of a Tsviet am I when I don’t even know anything about you or Shelke or my enemies?” Looking up, he could see the dark-haired woman wanted to object, but he continued. “Isn’t that why everyone is unhappy with the Restrictors? Because they’re tired of obeying their orders when we’re obviously stronger than them?” G raised an eyebrow as Argento looked somewhat surprised before explaining. “Don’t look so surprised.” He echoed the stranger’s words, and it was somewhat surprising that despite their voices being so dissimilar, the nuances were more or less the same. “I’ve been around enough to hear what other soldiers and Tsviets have to say.” He didn’t want her to feel like there was anything suspicious, and if she did, that would mean he’d have to get rid of her sooner than he had to. 

It took a couple of minutes for Argento to gather herself, probably weighing the different outcomes of this situation and the amount of information she was going to relay to him. “Very well.” She nodded solemnly, leaning back against the wall and gazing at some point on the wall behind him as she started telling him about the other Tsviets, the Restrictors and how every new soldier that joined Deepground was chipped so they wouldn’t be able to rebel. She told him about Nero’s oblivion and how it can conjure things out of nowhere and how it swallows people and no one really knows what happens to those who don’t come back. She told him about Shelke’s Synaptic Net Dive prowess; the ability to upload her personality seamlessly into the World Wide Network and to search for other individuals there, to use their memories and plant false ones into the minds of others. He also learned that the Emperor, the same stranger who had claimed to be his brother was called Weiss the Immaculate, the strongest of the Tsviets who had to be chained to his ‘throne’ inside the Mako Reactor Zero, which was the very same facility they were staying at. 

Funny thing, she conveniently left out anything relating to how G had come to this place or how he wasn’t chipped as she thought.

It didn’t matter.

First, he needed to use the Synaptic Net Dive to search for the rest of his memories. And also, for Sephiroth’s. Then, he was going to help them overcome the Restrictors. Something told him that he was probably going to need the other colored Tsviets, but then again, if they managed to kill all the Restrictors there was no guarantee he could kill the everyone else on his own.

He needed a plan.

“Let’s not dwell on these matters more than is necessary. Come.” Argento’s words brought him back to the present as she beckoned him to follow. “I’ve made an armor for you, which is also your weapon. I’ve seen how you don’t limit yourself to a blade, so I incorporated that in my design.” 

G realized that this was probably the dark-haired woman’s workroom of sorts-or something like that-because going through the door to his right led them to a spacious open area filled with various apparatuses; from a couple of furnaces here and there to workbenches and there were slabs of metal. He also realized that Argento had left out any information relating to herself out of what she had told him, which somewhat dampened his astonishment about what he was seeing as part of the individual currently walking ahead of him and fed into his suspicions. 

Next to the room they had been staying at, there was another one, which turned out to be an actual inventory of handmade swords, gunblades, and various other weapons G couldn’t name. There was a strange desire to walk toward each and every one of them and at least hold them in his hands, to swing those swords, palm their heft and feel their keen edge, but he suppressed it. He didn’t have time for this. And it might be too telling. He wasn’t willing to take any risks.

Freedom.

And his eyes settled on the armor Argento was pointing at, placing her sword among the others as she crossed her arms over her chest.

And it was magnificent really. 

A full body of steel and glowing lines.

Starting at the bottom where metal sabatons ended at the ankles to lead to a flexible joint to the metal greaves streaked with blue lines of mako which at the very top covered the knees and ended there, only to have three disjointed pads of steel cover the thigh section. Between them, there was a dark red rectangular piece of fabric which connected around the waist to another wider one covering the back. 

The torso was covered with overlapping pads of steel, each a couple of inches wide, ending only to let another start under them, connected to a bigger section covering the abdominal section which extended around the hips and possibly went around the back. On the shoulders, thick pauldrons rested, and lower the laminar pattern repeated itself until the metal bands reached the dense vambraces that morphed into gauntlets at the end. 

“We don’t have all day.” He’d been so busy feasting his eyes on the masterpiece in front of him that his companion seemed to have run out of patience. Broken out of his trance-like state, G quickly got to work and Argento helped him put the armor on, which definitely was not made of steel considering how light it was. 

Tying his shoulder-length hair into a bun, he paused, and thankfully the dark-haired woman was busy looking around for something. Untying it again, the fingers of his gauntlet pulled the strands forward as G tilted his head to look at them for the first time since he’d opened his eyes.

And they were auburn.

They were auburn.

Just like Genesis.

Clenching his teeth together, he stared ahead, quickly twisting the fiery strands into a bun again as Argento returned with a weird looking helmet. G nearly yanked it out of those hands and put it on, because he couldn’t let her see how that seemingly harmless detail was gnashing through his insides, he didn’t want to associate himself with Genesis further than having the same memories with him. He wasn’t Genesis. He was G, and yet…

His personal trainer started walking him through the how the weapon-armor worked, and G went with it, trying his best to not dwell on what identifying himself as the redhead in those memories would entail for him.

Just shy of his elbows, there were some sort of system that presumably activated by reading his thoughts, and the moment it did, two sets of four long blades ran alongside his forearms only to extend further a good ten inches, if not more. They were made of the same material as Shelke’s, though G wasn’t really sure, and instead of being a vibrant orange, they were a somewhat dull shade of red that glinted in the light as he moved his arms. Despite the appearance of the helmet, G had no trouble seeing through it from the inside, and pounding on it once was enough for him to believe that it was actually metal and not glass. There was also a heads-up display of the heat signature of anything standing at his back, which at the moment was nothing.

“What’s my mission?” He asked, frowning at his own voice through the confined space, impatient to put his new toy to test.

“It’s not a mission, but a set of missions.” The dark-haired woman explained. “The Restrictors are going to put each of the highest ranking Tsviets to the test. That also includes you.” Taking her sword, she started pacing in front of him, the picture of calm confidence shrouded by a thick veil of mystery. And G wondered how it would force his unhatched plan to move ahead of the pace he’d intended if he were to kill her now. “It’s petty. You go through the lower ranking members, and then the Restrictors battle with you until you become too much to handle for them and then they start humiliating you by activating the chip.” His personal trainer continued, her voice tinged with just the slightest hint of rage. 

And that was an emotion he hearkened to, something that boiled in his veins, rising up to the surface, because G already knew everything he needed to know, already knew their end game, already knew that they were going to use him, and Genesis was so sick of being used and thrown aside, and he wanted His Freedom BACK!

There was a gasp, wet, quickly followed by a cough that was somewhat strangled, and G’s azure eyes widened momentarily as he found his fist pressed against Argento’s spine, the long talons emerging from the other side of her ribcage slicked with a glowing shade of crimson. The rush that rose up in his chest was involuntary, making him want to throw his head back and just breathe… It felt like new blood was running through his veins, purging out the dead stagnation that had been weighing him down.

“You!-...” The dark-haired woman uttered lowly as Genesis curled his other hand around her shoulder, pressing the blade of his claws under a pale chin.

“Thank you, for everything.” G whispered, slashing her throat and yanking his hand free as the body fell into a boneless heap at his feet, her blood gushing out while Genesis looked down at it with detached indifference. 

* * *

Spilling the blood of the Restrictors, the trust of the colored Tsviets had followed naturally. Really, the trust of the whole Deepground had followed. Genesis wanted to laugh, and G didn’t think about anything other than how Weiss seemed to grow more and more pensive each day. He wondered if it was because the Immaculate Emperor saw him as a rival to his throne; not that he’d expressed any desire or shown any inclination towards wanting that position. 

Argento’s death had been quickly forgotten in the wake of the new events. No one spoke about it, but from the way those blue-green eyes framed by white lashes looked at him, Genesis was quite certain that Weiss knew  _ exactly  _ who had done it. He couldn’t bring himself to pay it any heed.

Killing the lab assistants had been the next step, and while it had surprised the white-haired man, he hadn’t tried to stop him. G couldn’t help but notice it probably had something to do with how much the man hated humans, especially with the way he spoke of them. The redhead couldn’t blame him. And while his ‘brother’ was assembling an army to get ‘up there’, for the past two days since they had finished off the last Restrictor-in a joint battle between Weiss, Rosso, Azul and G-he had been reading through anything he could get his hands on from the documents he’d confiscated from the labs. 

There were numerous reports about the experiments done on every soldier brought down here, more so on the colored Tsviets, and while Genesis had read somewhat on Weiss’ claims about their brotherhood, switching from the white-haired man’s files to Nero’s and then to Rosso’s and back, he couldn’t find anything about himself. In his anger and anguish at discovering that they had spliced the three aforementioned individuals with his genes at their infancy, he’d realized that the people living down here weren’t so different from himself. Experiments. Monsters. So why did he want to kill them? 

Reclining in the plush chair in Shelke’s room, he tried to relax as he took off his helmet and placed it in his lap. The young girl was bringing him yet another weird looking headpiece before attaching it to the weird machinery next to the dome-like apparatus that was glowing with tendrils of green above his head. G guessed that it was mako.

“You don’t wear this when you’re doing it.” Genesis commented, suspicious, and really G couldn’t fault him. However, he knew that the redheaded girl was quite perceptive, so he didn’t let anything show on his face. Funny, it was getting harder and harder every day, and he wondered if it had something to do with the memories that had resurfaced in his head.

“It’s because it’s one of my abilities.” Shelke commented flatly as she handed him the helmet. “You have to repeat what I say. When you’re online, just search for the person you’re looking for.”

Looking down at the object in his hands, he tried to think again, tried to make sure it was the right course of action. He had only remembered a handful of memories, and the ones he had seen in Nero’s darkness, he wasn’t really sure about considering what Argento had told him. On one hand, he was curious to know who he was-... _who_ _he had been_ before he had ended up down here. In fact, he wanted to know how he’d ended up down here. And also, there was this small voice at the back of his head whispering that he’d need to know this Genesis person before being able to bury him with his own two hands. The last thought was enough for him to put the headpiece on.

But he knew, at the core of it, it was just simply the desire to know the truth. And not only about why he’d ended up deserving to be tortured every day, thrown in front of monsters for them to tear into and toss around only to emerge victorious on the brink of death to have it done to him again until he was supposedly a Tsviet. He wanted to know why they had experimented on Genesis, why he’d been dying and if those images he had witnessed in the oblivion were true, why had Sephiroth done that to him. G didn’t know anything about love and kindness, they were bizarre notions, completely foreign and yet, this new facet of his personality, this Genesis seemed to associate them with some dark-haired blue-eyed face he’d seen. And then there was this silver-haired man, this Sephiroth guy who had said that he loved the redhead, and no matter how hard G had tried, he couldn’t understand...he couldn’t try and connect the dots that between the love and kindness he’d seen in  _ Angeal’s _ face and the pain, the anguish he’d seen on Genesis’ face in that room, and G, he was  _ intimate  _ with pain and anguish.

So, yes, he wanted to do this.

Nodding almost imperceptibly, he put it on and closed his eyes. He didn’t need them because everything was going to happen in his head. 

“I’m going to establish the uplink now.” Shelke informed, the sound of her fingers clicking against some keyboard muffled somewhat by the helmet. There was something inside it, pressing against his forehead a little uncomfortably, but G paid it no heed, before a shiver, somewhat like an electric shock, ran through his body, seemingly stemming from that piece. “Uplink successful. Now commencing SND.” And the girl’s voice was growing further and further away from him until G forgot who she was…

Behind his eyelids was light, blinding and the exact opposite of Nero’s darkness. Squinting, he thought he was seeing numbers falling all around him, in quick succession, like tangible columns and he reached forward to touch them only to find the whiteness engulfing his physicality-however he was doubtful this was his physical form, but that thought seemed to put a tremendous amount of strain against his brain, so he let it go-and he was watching with bewilderment as his fingers started blurring around the edges, like the brightness was eating away at them, like he was becoming a part of it, and it was terrifying. Genesis wanted to yield, wanted to fade away, but G retaliated, instead focusing on the same redhead that was so hellbent on destroying both of them.

It seemed like without having opened his mouth, the columns around him shifted, and abruptly he came face to face with the same redhead. Really the image might have almost slammed against his psyche because he nearly fell back, staggering with an unknown force, and again, without having uttered anything everything started changing, the whiteness giving way to the corporeal form of some room. G realized that it had been the same room he’d seen in Nero’s oblivion. 

And suddenly he could remember.

And it was so jarring to watch from the eyes of another as scene after scene a life that was so familiar unfolded around him-a life that had been his, once-as he got to experience emotions that were at the same time so new and at the same time so habitual all over again, as he had to go through all that he had once in a lifetime, ages ago, yet again, to feel the entirety of all that was Genesis with every facet of his being; and it hurt, it hurt more than anything, more than all he had been through so far, to reach out, in a feeble attempt at holding onto those images, to secret them away somewhere in his broken soul only to have them pulled away through his very fingertips, to have them shatter and burn and leave him with naught.

Witnessing that scene again wasn’t any less easy.

The realization that he already knew the words that they were going to exchange was heart-wrenching. And yet he spoke them with Genesis. He kicked and cried and screamed, and when it was over, once in Sephiroth’s room and then in his arms at some basement in Shinra company, G didn’t want to bury the redhead, didn’t want to do anything with him but simply  Coexist . Because Genesis had already died twice, had already been through his own fair share of pain that G could actually respect him.

What he couldn’t understand still was how the redhead still loved Sephiroth. How he’d still loved him as he’d crumbled to the floor only to have the silver-haired man come rushing to hold him. And maybe it wasn’t love because Genesis’ memories and feelings kept muddling up toward the end, becoming overwhelming and virulent, so instead, G turned his attention to the green-eyed man who was sitting frozen on the ground as the imagery faded, making way to the blinding light.

This time, he called for Sephiroth.

And something weird happened the moment the image of that familiar face met his eyes.

Feeling something warm and moist creeping down his upper lip only to seep into the seam of his lips, and raising his fingertips to it, G watched as they returned slick with crimson. Paying it no heed, he tried to reach Sephiroth’s memories and the columns started cracking around him, the numbers pouring freely, accumulating at his feet at an alarming speed. Trying to fight them seemed rather fruitless, but he tried regardless and yet he was soon buried to his shoulders in them, and they seemed to get higher still as he went under.

Only to find himself in a sea of green. 

Mako was the first word that came to his mind. 

But there were voices, actually whispers and wherever he set foot, the glowing tendrils recoiled from him, just as they recoiled from what was ahead. G couldn’t see it, what it was but could see how the black was seeping from it, as though reaching out to him. Frowning, he approached it, tentative and cautious. There was something familiar about it, the feeling of primal anger and hate, malevolent, insidious.

“Sephiroth?”

He could hear his voice, and yet he hadn’t really opened his mouth. He couldn’t understand why or what or how it had come to his mind, but the moment the name passed his lips, those whispers were hushed. If he had a corporeal form, G was sure the hairs on the back of his neck would be standing right now. And then the darkness surged toward him, the glowing sea of green backing away as it lashed out at him, viciously, vehemently. And wherever they brushed against him, all G could feel was impotent rage, resentment and disgust.

It left him bitter and hollow, and he found himself withdrawing only for everything to shut down around him and he found himself staring into the inside of the helmet, the metallic smell of his own blood filling his nostrils, and hadn’t he been bleeding inside his mind? The headpiece was pulled up by dainty yet strong hands and he came face to face with Shelke. 

“I see.” She deadpanned. “You were exceeding your brain capacity. That’s why the SND failed.” The redheaded girl walked over to put the device back to where she’d taken it from. And G, or Genesis really-he didn’t prefer one over the other-didn’t see any reason to tell her that something different might have happened. 

Instead, he stood up from where he’d been sitting for who knows how long, taking a couple of moments as everything swam in front of his vision. Wiping the blood away roughly, he put his helmet on, a feeling of bitterness rising up in him, of hatred and animosity; the smell of rot so nocuous that it made him want to vomit. Because G wanted to leave this place, because he was tired of fighting for a cause that had nothing to do with him. But he also knew that they weren’t going to let him. Because what kind of a Tsviet would he be? 

And Genesis had wanted to leave Shinra because he’d been just as tired, and they weren’t going to let him live his life. Because he had been a SOLDIER.

And what difference was there, between a Tsviet and a SOLDIER? They were one and the same.

The far-reaching excrescences of a tyranny that wanted him gone.

He wouldn’t be Genesis if he let them do that without a fight.

If this world wanted his destruction, it’d go with him.

* * *

It had been an all-out war. 

Genesis had lost count of the number of times he’d thanked Argento for designing this weapon-armor for him. It had really shown its perks against his fight with Azul.

The cerulean Tsviet had been a monster of a man who had turned into a Behemoth after the redhead had defeated him. It had come as such a shock that the scarlet-haired Tsviet had only stirred into action once a giant tail had slammed into him and swatted him like a fly. But being as good as he was with spells and magic, it had taken him a couple of minutes to figure out exactly how to defeat the abomination. While he had an affinity for various forms of magic, fire-based spells had always come to him more naturally than the others. Despite that, Genesis had given Azul all he got only to find that the monster had a weakness for ice-based attacks. The malevolent grin that had played on his features in that moment, had nearly split his face in two.

His fight with Rosso had been a lot easier, considering that he’d already bested her once. And when he’d challenged her, it had been really interesting to look into those rubicund irises and see respect and then watch it crumble when G informed the redheaded woman how he’d killed Azul the cerulean. She had been vicious, more so than the last time they had fought, bitter and angry and that had been exactly her downfall. It had been almost painful to watch blood gush out of that pretty mouth because Genesis could see himself in her, because he had been just as emotionally invested in his fights, once; he’d been just as angry and filled with as much fire. It’d made a small pinprick of pain stab in his chest, but it was quickly buried under the ever-thickening shell of indifference that had been proliferating inside him like gelid crystals of ice, growing and growing until nothing remained but the wintry winds of Northern Crater. He killed her in the same fashion he had taken Argento’s life. But he had cradled her face as her lifeblood poured out of her body, held her failing body in his arms and followed it to the ground because in some other life, in some other dimension he might have ended up loving her. And perhaps his seeing a part of himself in her had something to do with it, but by then, Genesis had been too far gone to notice.

What had came as a surprise was Weiss’ sudden descent into a vegetative state. On the eve of the fourth day after they had killed the Restrictors, the Immaculate Emperor had collapsed while he’d been walking among his men only to never wake up again. It had plunged those who had pledged their loyalty to him, which was a great portion of the Deepground army, in a sea of despair. But those who had been too scared to act against the supremacy of the white-haired man’s rule had started voicing their dissent, and Genesis had been glad to lead them. 

Nero had been devastated. And when the scarlet-haired Tsviet had tossed Weiss’ corpse into the heart of the mako reactor, G had felt no kinship, nothing to stop his hand, as it hadn’t before when he’d raised his claws against the body that couldn’t possibly defend itself, that lay motionless on the hollow meaningless throne. He had no desire to kill the magenta-eyed Tsviet but when Nero had provoked what remained of the shambled Deepground army against him, Genesis had had no choice.

They’d been fighting for almost a week. 

Half the underground city was already burning. The other half was the scene where the guerilla attacks had taken place, drenched in blood and strewn with corpses.

And Genesis had been so thoroughly and fucking tired and sick of the smell of death and decay. The only thing that had kept pushing him forward was the pain, the fatigue that had been ever-present under his skin. It had been the knowledge that if he closed his eyes, he might never open them again because everyone had just resorted to killing one another for no good reason past day four of the melee. Mindless slaughter. It had been the realization that they had all been dead the moment they had set foot in this place, so killing those who were already dead really didn’t count as anything. Not that G needed such ridiculous notions to still his hand from spilling blood. The monster in him craved for it as his body craved for mako he hadn’t received for days, as his body craved for air to breathe and all he could breathe now was ash, blood and destruction.

He wanted out.

And a body fell.

He wanted  Out .

And another body fell.

HE WANTED OUT.

And he had nearly collapsed by the time he had reached the weird looking elevator inside Mako Reactor Zero. He had been bleeding profusely, and thankfully everyone would soon be dead and gone. Leaning heavily on the rifle he had been using for the past five minutes which was now unfaithfully empty, he swiped the keycard he had stolen from the corpse of the highest ranking lab rat he’d been able to find, and thankfully it had worked. Though G wouldn’t have minded climbing through the infrastructure all the way up if it had come to it. 

Watching with barely open azure eyes as the pit of glowing mako drew further and further away, he called upon every ounce of magic and mako alike coursing through his body and summoned Apocalypse. 

He didn’t have time to see what befell Shinra’s darkest secret.

He didn’t know what happened to Shelke, but knowing the power of the spell he had just unleashed, he could safely guess that she’d be dead.

He had already thrown Nero after his brother to a glowing green demise.

The elevator ride took an eternity, in which he’d been fading in and out of consciousness, the sting of his wounds every time the tiny compartment jolted jarring him back to reality.

Finally, it came to a stop. The doors opened to reveal a corridor in front of him, brightly lit and so very much alike the ones he’d used to walk amongst all those eons ago. A sneer twisted his features, because this wasn’t going to work. 

An orange halo engulfed his right gauntlet and the metal ceiling above his head was nonexistent. The edges of the giant hole were burning, infrastructure exposed, wires showering him with sparks of electricity and there were screams and yells up there.

Leaping up through the opening he had created, Genesis vaguely realized he was standing in the Exhibit Room of the Shinra building. The thought made him want to be violently sick because he was in no state to kill any more people. He was in no state to fight all of SOLDIER, he was in no state to fight infantry, and they were going to take him again. Take him and use him again. Nightmare all over again.

_ No. _ He wouldn’t let them. G wouldn’t let them.

Genesis ran.

He ran as fast as he could, as fast as his exhausted body let him.

It took him approximately twenty-eight minutes to reach Viridiare Paths. The scarlet-haired man was nearly dragging himself by the time he reached that very same weeping willow, not caring that there was probably a battalion following the blood trail he was leaving behind, nor about the whipping blades of the chopper as it landed on a rather bare patch of grass about sixty feet behind him. Taking off his helmet and letting it roll out of his hands as he dropped to his knees, Genesis threw his head back, and for the first time in a  _ really  _ long time, felt  _ a breeze of fresh air _ dancing through his blood-tangled hair, felt it caress his sweat and carmine stricken face, and it brought the tiniest of smiles to his lips. 

“ _ Genesis? _ ” A man called behind him, and a name flashed through his psyche only to be pushed away to the back of his head.

He wasn’t going to let them take him again.

He wouldn’t let them have the pleasure of killing Genesis Rhapsodos again.

Bringing up his claws to his neck, he closed his eyes, breathing it all in for one last time.

So he hadn’t lied to Rosso after all.

The sky was, after all, the color of his eyes.

Genesis tried to push.

G stopped him.

“ _ Genesis! _ ” Angeal called from behind.

And Genesis collapsed unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the really long wait. Hopefully you guys are still following the story and it's as fun to read as it was fun for both of us to write. Also happy new year, and hope you all had fun during the festive season.


	10. Chapter Ten

_You are the mist seeping_  
  
_Through the open, dark door_  
  
_At the back of mind_  
  
_You leave condensation on the edges of my blade_  
  
_And it reeks of salt...and grief_  
  
_You are a sugar-spun ghost with spectral tresses to match_  
  
_Yet you hide beneath the brush..._  
  
_...of another_  
  
_And how can I reach you, when I know not who or where you are?_  
  
_For what is a whisper of light...in this dark heart_  
  
_And how can I catch a phantom and call it_  
_  
_ "Mother"?

* * *

_‘Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess.’_

Awareness...a thing of fantasy it seemed; like the tug of an intricate thread pulled taut, until the edges were fraying and the dust from errant particles burst forth to obscure synaptic function. How could you be alive and yet not be cognizant? It seemed an impossible thing...and yet here he was. ... _He._ What was ‘he’ in any case? A particle? A cell? A particle in a cell? Something coagulated by lost definition…flung out into the far reaches of the metaphysical only to return more muddled and more obscure than it had ever been before. But that still wasn’t a definition, it wasn’t anything concrete or reassuring or solid. Some part of him hearkened to the sensation; the concept of perpetual instability, of never knowing when the guillotine was going to fall again. It was a state of nonexistence, and could nonexistence _be_ a state? Was it a theoretical form in the world of physics or was it simply an abstract terminology for something no one understood?

It didn’t know.

_He_ didn’t know.

Vague recollections were a possession; of whitewashed walls and the smell of bleach and sterilization. Something in him murmured _‘clean’_ but he didn’t know what clean was...what that meant. Flickers...fuzzy cerebral transmissions like grey static phantoms; cotton and too much standard-issue soap, a feeling of terrible inadequacy, of never being enough despite being the best. The pinch of something long, metallic and sharp, icy fluid flooding through his veins and screams that seemed to be coming from the depths of the earth itself. Warm, stretchy dermis and the **_*thump*_ ** of a panicked heartbeat. Of being impossibly small and the world around him seemed like a laminated, sterile winter...like cold fire and iron and blood seething across his tongue from his throat until he couldn’t scream any more.

_‘We seek it thus and take it to the sky.’_

CO2, N2.

_What?_

Blue. Something blue, but what _was_ blue? If he thought hard enough, he thought he might be able to define it, catch it between something that was an extension of himself and twine it betwixt. Everything was green, and at least this he knew was a color. A luminescent, phosphorescent green that seemed to encompass the entirety of his scope of comprehension. It was ethereal, suffused with memories, with ghosts and souls and the passage of so much time he didn’t know if he would ever reach the end of it. There was the sensation of hurtling towards an endless horizon...of the fear of falling so far he would never find his way back. Consequentially...there was also the nuance of peace, of an eternal, perpetual somnolence that was unraveling slowly; like a thread in a tapestry of individual definition caught up and brought forth...endless. Another recollection, of black pinions and an explosion of aviatory flight...of the ground retreating beneath him as he soared into the atmosphere.

_“A perfect specimen.”_

That’s what he was, what he _had_ been. Something ugly in him hearkened to the concept of it, to the picture of flawlessness. More prominent than that, however, was the singular truth that he didn’t want that perfection, had never wanted it. Forced into something he had never asked for, he had driven his definition into the ground and become a being of servitude in service to beings of servitude. Like a blurred, aged painting shaped into something heinous...something hard and cold and sightless. The emerald luminescence around him took that resentment, that desire to be something new and beautiful and drained it from him in its entirety, left it hateful and bitter and desperately sad. Stronger than the sadness was the feeling that grief was weakness, that he could not succumb to terrible grief or the stars would rise up and swallow him whole like the monster he was.

_‘Ripples form on the water’s surface…’_

Tempestuous; the concept of identity. It had torn him asunder, brought forth the desire for normalcy on a tide of scarlet and sapphire. Because those lips had told him that he was imperfectly perfect...instantaneously valuable in a way that no other could be. And the _lies_ that hissed from the rubicund maw, caught up in the tide of pleasure and affection and the desire to give until maybe, _maybe_ he could be enough. Like a stone thrown into a placid lake formed from regulatory dogma, he had grasped those promises and falsities as if they were the single lifeline to everything he could possibly be. Fallen at the feet of something more monstrous and more terrible than any monster he had ever encountered; any foe he had ever conquered.

_Love._

And what was love, really? A pledge in the deepest of silences? A plea, not to reciprocate, but to stay? And he _had_ loved, in that cowardly sniveling way that all pathetic beings found themselves ensnared in. Trapped in the concept that somehow such words could guarantee an eternal presence...imprisoned by mutual affectation. Only a fool would succumb to love...and he had been a fool. Because that love was merely an illusion for fear, for the simple truth that sometimes possession was not enough. Sometimes enslavement was not only done with the body and with will, but with the heart. And it was a self-imposed subjugation...volitional subservience. Something that people willingly shackled themselves to in the hope that somehow it would save them from their own fear of loneliness.

_‘The wandering soul knows no rest.’_

Earth and rain...the scent of damaged soil and the tang of copper. Familiar, achingly familiar. As familiar as the soft song of a sword sliding from its sheath, of the howls of the dying. The crunch of loam under boots that never seemed to fully keep out the wet, the haunted eyes of hundreds of men who had watched their comrades die in heinous ways; blown to pieces, cut into shreds, riddled with bullets. Trembling with shell-shock and a sort of numb...dull acceptance. Because what else could they do? What else had they ever known? Men never _learned._ Never accepted the fact that nothing was sure in life but death. Nothing was promised but a definite, cohesive end to all things bright and beautiful. So they cried out over fallen comrades, howled their despair to the skies as scarlet ran in crimson funnels over fingertips that reaped as much as they sowed. And their tears smelled of salt and fear and the constant question of the permanence of mortality...when mortality was anything but permanence.

_NaCl_

Violence...nothing but a means to an end. Nothing but a definition; of strength, of sorrow, of secrets. And what did one do with so many secrets? Dole them out like sweets laced with poison? Hide them in files until their verities became bigger, more monstrous and more painful than they already were? Leave them like scattered breadcrumbs for the starving to follow…‘till the end became so heinous that nothing could possibly trump the horror and self-loathing that became their unveiling? Secrets were terrible, secrets had killed more good men than bullets, secrets _burned._ And in that conflagration were the remains of children, of infants who could have had something so different than what they were given...of babes who were born with worms and rot and grief already instilled in their veins.

_‘There is no hate, only joy.’_

Tossed by something infinite, mirth became a heady drug. Something one could hearken to in the darkest of nights. Pale fingers and scarlet hair and a riotous laugh. Blood-red sheets and the arch of a graceful spine as the definitions of the universe narrowed down to a single, beautiful individual who-as far as he had been concerned-held every facet of his existence in his calloused, gorgeous palms. _He who whispered love._ Who dragged him from the depths of ignorance into something bright, something that he never knew that he wanted. He who had taken the sky and placed it in his eyes and let him drown in it like his irises were the deepest of oceans. Leather, red-leather and dusty books, morning coffee and sonnets and _Ashayam._ Cigarettes and sleepy smiles framing pearly white teeth.

_C 10H14N2... _

And you could calculate the things he loved, the clothes he wore and the words he spoke...but you could never calculate his soul. Because he always seemed so much bigger than he really was, so much stronger and brighter. Everything about him was relentless and unstoppable and utterly breathtaking. Like the very apex of a sunrise, sparkling over dark hills to spill staggered rays on withered grass...like the cloud that brought the thunderstorm to quench starving soil everything about him was rising above the surface for that gasp of air. Like a drumbeat across the psyche, something steady but somehow articulate in a way that no one and nothing else could mimic. Painfully individual, painfully present.

_‘For you are beloved by the goddess…hero of the dawn, healer of worlds...’_

All that talk of deities. Of _a deity;_ one that he had never believed in, one that he had sworn if she did exist he would never follow. Because what goddess allowed such a verdant planet to fall under the control of something so heartless? How could any loving, giving entity stand idle as a bestial definition tore her people and her promises asunder? He had sworn off faith the minute he knew that it existed...because the alternative was too terrible to consider. The alternative left him cold, terrified and crumbling into something breathless and broken. The alternative was something no faithful individual would accept, would write off as ‘free will’ or the ‘higher will’...and he couldn’t accept that...couldn’t condone it in the face of all the things he had seen.

The alternative was divine negligence.

A shiver...as if whatever embodied the essence of the luminescence around him had heard his morbid thoughts. There was the sense of something reaching into him, clear and cold and fluid as water. It seeped into his veins and turned them into liquid ice. If he still possessed a mouth the air coming out of it would have been thick with frigid clouds. Not because the exterior atmosphere was cold but because his interior existence was so frozen it affected the space around it...turned it into a miasmic fog that came from the darkness within. His was a barren existence...a soundless existence...muffled by who he had been and who he had subsequently chosen to be. Strangely, he didn’t feel guilty about it, merely resigned...as if he’d had no choice in the matter to begin with. And he didn’t believe in Fate, but he did believe in purpose...perhaps his purpose had been served.

_‘Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul…pride is_ **_lost…_ ** _’_

What was the semblance of self-worth? Of responsibility and the acknowledgement of actions and the consequence of such action? If there was such a thing as ethereal retribution, this couldn’t be it. Because if he needed to face judgement for his crimes this was _nothing._ Nothing compared to the things he had done. Another recollection, of pale bleeding flesh and necrotic blood, of a broken sob and a broken body. Of a question, an unanswered question and a supplication from someone who had very, very little left to hope for. And he, in his selfish absorption had taken it as abandonment...as egress. He had taken it as betrayal and meted out the punishment for betrayal with pain, with delirium and the desire to wring the agony in his own heart from the individual before him.

Because _nothing else would suffice._

And then he had the ‘privilege’ of watching the victim of his actions die...resigned and lifeless in his arms. Even though in reality, it should have been him. And that was enough. Enough to make him abandon everything he had ever stood for and cast himself into the void. He’d taken enough lives after that to become a figurehead for mindless slaughter; for flame and fire and fear. And it was what he’d wanted at the time. Now...he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure what he _was_ anymore in any case. A figment of someone’s imagination? Something rendered in the unconscious and swept away until there was nothing left but ashes? …He didn’t know. He only knew that it was hopeless to consider himself a facet of anything greater. Because he was _exhausted,_ and maybe...just maybe this was all that was left. If that was the truth he could deal with it, because he was tired of being a cog in something he didn’t fully comprehend, and when he did comprehend...something that he hated.

_‘Wings stripped away...the end is nigh…’_

**_Pain._ **

Abrupt...immediate, unforgiving; ripping through his synapses like a winged, maniac beast. Tearing him asunder until the mindless abyss he had floated in was echoing with the sounds of his psychic screams. Ripped in twain, robbed of something vital whose absence left him shuddering, bleeding subconscious hemoglobin; black with the skid of blood. It filled him, spilled over his metaphysical tongue until it gurgled in the back of his ‘throat’; trickled forth from his ‘eyes’ until he was blinded by necrosis; shriveling and withering under the force of the onslaught. Attack, the only thing it could have been was an _attack..._ animal in its ferocity, unforgivable in its heartlessness. It left him whimpering and hollow, ‘crawling’ on existential ground like a dog beaten into submission. Scrabbling at illusory ‘dust’ until it felt like he was digging a hole into himself, folding inwards and becoming something he didn’t know and didn’t recognize.

_‘This is_ **_mine._ ** _’_

He wanted to beg; to _plead..._ but he didn’t know what he was begging for, didn’t know what he was asking for. Only that he needed it like he needed air, needed it like he needed the blood coursing through his veins. But he couldn’t articulate anything through the tremendous agony searing through him. And it was as if a monster had reached into his chest and torn it in half only to draw forth a light so bright it was blinding, ‘till it illuminated the space that was not really a space...not really anything. The more...whatever it was ripped him to shreds the less it hurt...and that was somewhat of a relief. But the relief soon faded into a kind of blind numbness...an apathy that was as painful as it was soothing. Because as much as he’d felt before, he now felt nothing, nothing but a kind of black, oily restlessness that stretched out to seize every corner of his persona...like the spill of dark water on white parchment…

_‘My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I?’_

It was so easy for them to hate him. To put him in a box and stamp it was the assumption of ‘strange’ and disregard everything else. From the way he looked to the way he spoke...they made it simple for him to look at himself as equally strange. And he’d never really questioned it...not until he was given the opportunity to see otherwise. In some ways, he wished that he’d never had that opportunity, wished that he’d ignored that outstretched palm and chosen to walk blindly into something he was used to...something that was as much a part of himself as everything else. Ignorance was easy...cognizance was difficult. He’d always been logical, but it had often struck him that in his choice to be logical he’d at the same time chosen to be illusioned by everything else, by the concept of normalcy. Everyone else conducted themselves with emotionalism, or-at the very least-with personal purpose. He’d never done that, he’d always chosen to bend to someone else’s purpose. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t know that he had had any other opportunity.

_‘You are a person. A human.’_

...But he wasn’t.

He was as far from a human as the sky was from the sun, and he’d been terribly horribly foolish to think that it could be otherwise. Not only had his attempt at personalization hurt him, it had irreparably damaged those around him. The very few people he’d ever cared about were gone, or they now considered him a monster. And he _was_ a monster. The kind of monster mothers whispered warnings to their children about in the dark of night...the kind of monster you spoke of in hushed voices around a campfire. A cold sort of derisiveness rose within him at the thought. And so what if he was a monster? Better that than a human. What had humans ever done for him? Tortured him, belittled him, used him... _betrayed him._ And he could wallow in guilt, but it didn’t change the fact that his perfection had been driven to ruin by humanity’s imperfection...by their inability to tolerate anything that was just a little bit different.

_‘All that awaits you is a somber morrow...no matter where the winds may blow.’_

Permanence. What a joke. As the tearing, vicious presence retreated, the hollow, bitter laugh that spilled from his ‘mouth’ echoed in the endless void. He was something different now...something...better? Permanence didn’t matter, duty didn’t matter, _love_ didn’t matter. No, he was right to lay waste to that which was so terribly ugly, so miniscule and fearful. Jenova had done so and he would do so again. He would not make her mistakes; there were no Ancients now, nothing to bind him to the earth and make him sleep. He would not be so weak as the individual who had come before him. It was time for this Planet to acknowledge its place; as his vessel and nothing more. And the beings upon it could rot in the void of space as he sought out greater, better worlds. Perhaps the next world he descended upon would have more worthy subjects...people deserving of his attentions and affections. For now, he couldn’t afford to have any; his affections had hurt him too much before.

_‘If this world seeks my destruction... It goes with me…’_

Not his words...distant words…spoken maybe in a different world...in a different time. And there were so many ways things could have gone differently. If _they_ had chosen to show him benevolence, if they’d stopped slicing him open and looking at him like a circus sideshow. They had had opportunities...plenty of opportunities. There would be no more. It would take time, he was sure of it. He had an inkling of where he was and what had befallen him. An image of an enraged face, of laughing in that face…the face he had once counted as an ally. Tossed forward, the rush of air falling past him. His mother’s head tucked under his arm as if she was something precious, something worth keeping. He ‘snorted.’ No, _she_ was equally as worthless. He couldn’t afford to hearken to anything so pathetic, it would only hinder what he was trying to do.

_‘My friend, your desire is the bringer of life...the gift of the goddess.’_

He was dead.

Of that much, he was fairly certain. He could recall the pain of disintegration, of absorption and the absolution of losing his physical body. No matter, that too could be rectified. Even if his previous mentality didn’t know how to do it, his biology did. Everything about him was self-preserving, insidious and determined. He would _live,_ he would rebuild. Reaching out, he stretched the tendrils of his psyche into the Lifestream, wrapped himself around metaphysical ghosts and sucked them dry. Remnants of bodies, of lives and of souls...they would sustain him, they would raise him from this spiritual grave and into the world of the living. And then he would take the living and make them the dead. Just as they had done to him. He would have his revenge, and it would be terrible and absolute.

_Perfect monster indeed..._

He smiled and it was nothing like the physical action. It was a ripple, like the rise of an onyx wave. It shivered across the realm he currently possessed, the one he was draining of vitality so that he could retrieve himself. They fled before him... _she_ fled before him. And it didn’t matter that she had taken his humanity, because now he could focus on what he truly was...on what he was destined to be. Wryly, he supposed he ought to thank her, but he would not let his pride suffer to offer gratuity to that which could not even protect those she professed to serve. She’d never bothered to extend any form of mercy to him, so he would not offer the same...blood for blood. He would take the blood of her ‘beloved’ people and let it run the ground red, twist it with his fingers until it dried and flaked and nothing remained.

_‘Even if the morrow is barren of promises…’_

Something was reaching out to him...something brilliant and light and familiar. But it was tinged with a sour pall...darkened and corrupted by a nameless hatred. He knew it, vaguely, distantly; like something he’d once been fond of dragged towards him on the dregs of a black memory. Whispers...whispers across his mind...blue eyes, marred now by some terrible pain...something he used to care about that was no longer an integral part of his existence. It floated through his psyche as he weaved himself back together, as he stitched his essence from the ghosts of those who had come before. Distracted, he watched it waver, watched it reach out and beckon to him. Strangely, he felt no desire to pursue it, nothing warm or reassuring was cased within it. So when he recognized what- _who-_ it was he recoiled, turned into himself and shivered with a kind of existential revulsion. Because _never again._

_“Sephiroth…”_

**No.**

With every aspect of his metaphysical form he lashed out, stretched himself thin like a child kicking and screaming to get away from its mother. He used every existential weapon he possessed, sent them firing into that questing presence until it recoiled and shriveled into itself. He was accosted with the feeling of hurt, of betrayal, of _anger._ Nothing in him hearkened to it...felt the least bit sorry for it because he would not go down that road again, he would not flagellate himself again. He would not bring himself so low, would never go through that much pain for the sake of another. The Planet would pay, and the individual behind those seeking...supplicative gestures would pay as well. He would pay for his abandonment, for his vitriol, for his false promises and his hatred. He would pay for _dying_ and leaving him behind.

_‘I loved you…’_

Love was an illusion, he knew that now. There was no point in dragging it out, in trying to seek something that couldn’t be sought. It was like chasing a sunbeam; there wasn’t anything to chase...merely a mirage that slipped from your fingertips the moment you drew close. He wouldn’t allow himself to suffer that again. As for duty, honor and ‘doing the right thing’; he should have done this long ago...before he gave in to despair and let himself be flung into the Lifestream. He should have cut Hewley’s throat and been done with it...and that was his name; Hewley. Just like _Genesis,_ he was a betrayer; unfaithful, blinded by human concepts of right and wrong. He’d been a fool to tie himself to such people, just as he’d been a fool to allow Hojo to use him as he did. And as that scarlet, sorrowful presence disappeared from whence it came...the last fragments of his body rejoined the whole; he breathed...and was born again.

_‘Nothing shall forestall my return....’_

…Sephiroth opened his eyes.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Sitting at his desk, where the brightness of his computer’s monitor permeated the darkness of the room surrounding him, Angeal rubbed his eyes for a brief moment before focusing on the document he’d been trying to process for the past thirty minutes. It was Seconds’ evaluation results, Lazard and the rest of the board had been adamant about finding a capable and competent individual to promote to First.

It had always struck him as bizarre why Shinra had been so obsessed with having three First at the head of the army. Yes, it made commanding the men easier because there were less soldiers being led by one Commander at a time. But then again, why not have more Firsts be promoted to Command?

Sighing, he couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his spine.

It had, quite possibly, something to do with the fact that they had been so different from their peers. Nobody came close to how good they had been back then. Even now, he could best Zack in battle; easily so. His old Second Class evaluation results exceeded Zack’s First Class scores by an unreasonable margin. And mako aside, they had Jenova to thank for all that; superior strength, superior speed, superior mental prowess, etc.

Maybe he should propose to Lazard that they needed more Firsts to lead the army from now on.

Glancing at the clock, it was 3:33 in the morning.

With his thoughts scattering and  how late it was, he knew he wasn’t going to make any further progress. Saving his files before shutting the computer down, the dark-haired man’s chair swiveled, his back facing the dimming monitor screen. It took a little longer for his eyes to adjust until he was able to see the plants that were occupying the base of the far wall in front of him. His eyes then darted to the swords adorning it further up.

Leaning his head back until he was staring at the plain white-washed ceiling, another sigh passed his lips.

Things had started calming down in the metropolis currently twinkling outside his windows.

There had been a public conference, the biggest one he’d probably attended in his whole service and his life. Maintaining security had been really difficult, because of the sheer number of people who had attended, and not all of them had been supportive of the reformed Shinra. It had been Reeve’s idea to come out and shed some light on the atrocities Shinra had done, and the way they were going to make amends. At first, Angeal had been rather pessimistic about it, witnessing how people had grown tense with each sentence that the newly appointed President had issued. But the man had slowly started winning the populace over with the truth, and by supporting that truth with facts that were too concrete to be dismissed. Tuesti had informed the audience that they had actually been paying for the renovations around the globe with the money that had been previously allocated to the now non-existent Weapon Department and the former President’s blocked accounts. But since they had been losing the support of many businessmen because they had actually flocked to Shinra senior for the free reign and depthless pockets he’d given them, Reeve had told the people that they’d still need their support and with Wutai War having come to an end, and there being no plans for installing a new Mako Reactor on the island, they didn’t need any more money than they already did give in form of monetary taxes; and probably even less.

That seemed to have been enough for the citizens attending the conference; enough for them to go back to their homes and stop coming to the streets for the eleventh time during the past three months.

Angeal and Lazard had both been trying their hardest not to think too hard about the revolt that was probably going to start in SOLDIER as a result of said public speech. The men had every right to be angry. Nine years of war for nothing. Nine years of shedding blood and sweat; of lives lost and dreams shattered. The newly instated General had wanted to talk to those under his command, to those he’d fought side by side, to those who were now and forever residing in the graveyard on the Surkene boulevard at the edge of the plate; to the numerous many who were forever lost, nameless and placeless in the mud and jungles of Wutai because they hadn’t been able to bury them...But what to tell them? He’d had nothing but silence. Silence and the responsibility of something he _knew_ deep within his bones and with every human and foreign cell in his body, that he couldn’t bear. The urge to renounce his position as a General had been cripplingly strong, but he’d also known that it wouldn’t really work considering how the company and regime were new on their feet. He had done the only thing he could have done, to apologize, to hang his head in shame before bowing to the soldiers gathered in the assembly stadium of Shinra building for exactly one minute, and then leaving.

The feeling that he had betrayed everything that he’d been trying to stand for since he could remember wouldn’t stop plaguing his thoughts.

There had been no signs of an uprising yet, but thinking about the ever increasing probability of Shinra returning the lands they had taken from Wutai during the course of war as an attempt to make amends, that possibility was becoming more of a certainty.

Sighing vehemently while wearily rubbing his hand across his face, the blue-eyed man made his way to the bed, getting rid of his shirt and fatigues before crawling under the sheets, a wan but no less genuine smile settling across his features as the fading scent of musk that had become more familiar over the course of the past month filled his olfactory senses.

Vincent Valentine.

They had both been trying to find time around their schedule to meet and spend time together; Angeal trying to help as much as he could during his short stays outside the base, and the gunslinger trying to make himself useful-despite the dark-haired First’s protests that he already was helping enough-when the gunman came back to HQ.

Apart from that first time, the former Commander had been to the older man’s quarters once more, and subsequently the next day-which would be four days ago-he had invited the ex-Turk over. They hadn’t done much of anything, mostly talking about their work and this and that, hovering around one another and exchanging touches that stemmed from Angeal’s desire to just be close to the crimson-eyed individual. It was hard to deny himself-as selfish as it sounded-the calm that came solely with Vincent’s presence, especially in the constant sea of turmoil they were floundering in. Or they had been.

If he closed his eyes, he could see themselves lying in the same bed as he was now, a little further to his right; an alabaster back leaning against the pillows at the headboard while a pale arm was holding the onyx-haired soldier close, in the same fashion Vincent had back at Corel, long ivory fingers carding through his locks as they had just stayed there, until their time together had come to an inevitable end.

The ex-Turk had been shipped off again, and Angeal barely suppressed a groan, because he had been the one who had eagerly agreed with this in the first place, but now was finding himself less and less inclined to see the older man leave Midgar for anywhere else. Dismissing that thought because it was as illogical as it was dishonorable, he tried to clear his head so he could get as much sleep as he could-which was now about two hours, give or take- before having to wake up for his daily duties.

Suddenly the room was filled with an ominous presence, brushing just at the shores of his consciousness and Angeal jolted upright, trying to distinguish what it was and attempt to locate it. It seemed that it was inside the room but as far as his eyes could see, there was nothing. He was too high up the building for anyone to be able to climb all the way, and the walls were thick-...

…-a blinding green light flashed through the darkness, to his right and upwards, and viridescent glowing tendrils not at all unlike mako were enveloping Masamune, extending from tip to hilt, before the sword vanished in a hiss of metal and air.

Sitting there, tangled in the sheets, and staring dumbly with a flabbergasted expression at the empty place where Sephiroth’s sword had been perched only moments ago, the blue-eyed First couldn’t help but feel that something terrible was going to happen.

And unbeknownst to him, he wasn’t wrong.

* * *

He started at Icicle Inn.

Waking up was a surreal experience, almost hallucinogenic in its clarity. Sephiroth opened his eyes to find himself staring out of a crystalline structure and looking at the walls of an enclosed, subground space. It didn’t take him very long to gather his bearings, to understand that he was conscious and that now was the time to pursue the purpose he’d been seeking for so long. His body was initially less than responsive...it took him several minutes to remember how to move his limbs, to remember to breathe, to blink his eyes. For about an hour, he adjusted to his vitality; emerging from the gemstone-esque structure to kneel on the floor in an explosion of geological shards and green fluid. Despite being in the Lifestream for who knows how long, muscle memory came back to him with surprising ease. He flowed through a set of combative positions before calling Masamune, which responded to his beckoning...appearing almost instantly. It was strange to feel it in his palm...to acknowledge that despite everything that occurred, his sword hadn’t been melted down into cannon fodder.

He was naked.

At first, he didn’t consider this a problem, but eventually he was forced to reconsider. He wasn’t impervious to the elements, and there were risks to flying that even he couldn’t avoid. Reaching deep within himself, he drew from the darkest facets of his newly formed psyche; reimagining his old uniform and exhaling in voiceless satisfaction as dark threads of corrupted Lifestream wrapped around his body. They caressed him perfunctorily, as if confirming his identity, his validity. The smell of new leather became apparent and he smirked as he stretched black leather-clad hands in front of him; his vambraces settling over his shoulders as his old garb was built anew...unstained.

Soon, it would be stained again.

Rising, he’d left the Northern Crater without a single glance back. The memories that had knit him back together over the course of time were unimportant...insignificant. And when he emerged to breathe the free air again the world seemed to tremble before him. Every facet of the planet was wrought in a sunless, steely grey sky...as if trying to warn its pathetic inhabitants of what was to come. He smirked. They wouldn’t know what had befallen them until they were flooding the Lifestream with their souls. He would give them no repast, no solace, no time to grieve. He would let the soil run red with their blood and bathe in the synchronous symphony of their agony. _Death_ had come for Gaia; for the sins that she had left unpaid, for every miniscule, tempestuous torture she’d allowed them to commit upon him. He would have his day-his _days-_ and then he would take what was left of the hollow shell of the planet and find new worlds to conquer. A ripple of ether, a burst of noir plumage, and his wing extended.

He flew South.

Icicle Inn was-disappointedly-not thickly inhabited. It had forever escaped him why an entire town was named _‘Inn’,_ but he didn’t let the specifics concern him as he descended upon its snowy, glittering gingerbread-house dwellings. They burned nicely…all that old, antiquated wood that the rich resort owners insisted didn’t need updating. Sephiroth could remember fielding waiver after waiver across his desk...complaints from guests who said that the facilities were too old...too outdated for younger people who didn’t like the throwback to fully enjoy their stay. He took a kind of savage pleasure in watching the flames lick across frost-spattered windows; melting solidified water like writhing, waltzing serpents. The few people who perished did so more quickly than he’d have liked but he enjoyed it regardless. Their screams echoed in his ears as he wheeled away, moving further towards his initial goal with the wind at his back.

Bone Village was much more fun.

Filled to the brim with hapless, narrow minded researchers and scientists; the inhabitants of the remains of behemoth giants put up considerably more of a fight. The retort of gunshots echoed across the valley walls as he toyed with them, brought destruction to their calcified doorstep only to disappear into the darkness once more. He didn’t burn anything this time. Instead, he took a savage, mindless sort of pleasure in hunting the populace down one by one. He separated them, lured them away and let the cells in his vocal chords mimic the voices of their loved ones until they stumbled, half-mad with fear into the heft of his blade or the vice-like grip of his hands. Dragged, beaten...snatched from the ground and dropped from the sky from lethal heights...stabbed with his sword and the splatter of crimson across his cheeks was a beautiful thing, the cease of mortal heartbeat like a melody; timeless and ageless. For hours he hunted them like a primordial, ravenous phantasm to gaze into the whites of horror-glazed eyes as life oozed out mouths, nostrils and limbs. When he was done he was shaking, not from the heinousness of it but from the _thrill_ of it.

Southeast to Junon by nightfall.

By the time he reached the city limits their defense systems were up and running. He’d taken the time to burn the few solitary patches of outlying civilization along the way...they knew he was coming. SOLDIER was here, or at least some of it was. He took an immense amount of satisfaction from knocking each hapless, sniveling Second from their sentry posts; watching as their bodies flew from their stations to the streets below to shatter onto the pavement...broken and lifeless. Here they had automatics, unlike the antiquated sawed-off rifles a few of the more paranoid researchers had had in Bone Village. The explosive, ecstatic music of multiple mechanical weapons ripped a kind of delirious, scornful laugh from his throat; because they just didn’t _learn._ He had learned...during his time in the Lifestream and the time before that. Humans were eternally dimwitted, existentially blind and fearful. And as he tore limb after limb; sent a scorching trail of unforgiving fire across the Eastern district he felt nothing but cold contempt.

They had _earned_ this.

Eventually, the sound of choppers heading towards the city gave him pause. A quarter of Junon was burning...a quarter of the populace dead and only now did Shinra decide to dispatch its lapdogs. Crouching low on a smoldering rooftop, his fingers sunk into the body of some nameless, faceless person as they twitched and died, Sephiroth watched with narrowed eyes as the massive birds landed just outside of the city. From the sound of it, they’d dispatched little more than a squadron of soldiers to ‘deal’ with him. Lifting red-stained fingers to his visage and pushing his hair from his forehead, the ex-General grinned; teeth glinting white in the low light. A _squadron._ Pathetic. There was the hurried march of booted feet, the shuffle of heavy armor and the clang of weapons. Closer... _closer…_ The green-eyed man crouched, prepared to spring before a singular, more distinctive voice rose above the rest, calling orders in a terse and strictly-business kind of manner.

_Ah._

He changed his focus-watching as the troops grew near-before grabbing the lifeless body next to him and observing it distastefully for a moment before throwing it down into the streets below. Immediately, the squadron-save for their ‘General’-recoiled; some of the younger, less experienced recruits fired their weapons. The silver-haired ex-First smirked as the corpse jerked listlessly. There was a whispered, universal mutter and sapphire-blue eyes were scanning the rooftops with a practiced eye. Sephiroth didn’t give his murderer the chance to find him. Instead, he straightened; silhouetted against the moon like a black phantasm before plunging to the asphalt below in a hail of silver and black; landing with his back to his opponents. There was silence; one of the men at the very back fled...his boots echoing his retreat against the cement walls that surrounded them. Turning, the former SOLDIER let his face settle into unreadable impassivity, the beryl of his irises the only thing remotely alive as he rotated to look at the individual he had once foolishly called a _‘friend’._ Sephiroth tilted his head.

“...Hello, Angeal.”

There was a gasp, Zack Fair claiming that he had to be dead, that they had thrown him down the reactor. To the younger man’s right, their ‘General’ was watching him head-on, schooling his shocked features into an expression of solemn neutrality, but those sky blue eyes were so easy to read; the disbelief, the disappointment, the _disgust_ crystal clear.

Sephiroth’s face betrayed none of the contempt that he was feeling again.

Behind the First Class duo, the squadron was obviously nervous, their stances almost vibrating with too much tension to stay firmly rooted in their spots, fear wafting off them in waves, and the _monster_ in him hearkened to it. Because they had to be fearful. They had to cower in the face of his superiority. To know their place in his presence, which was nothingness, like ants at the feet of a god.

The moment his grip tightened around Masamune to bring it up over head, Sephiroth could already see the outcome of this battle unfolding in front of his eyes.

Angeal had just opened his mouth to order the soldiers to stand down when they started firing. And the silver-haired man was rushing forward in a blur of blue and silver, the panic-stricken face of the dark-haired Firsts the last image flashing against his retinas before his corporeal form was up in tendrils of corrupted Lifestream. In less than a split second, he reappeared among them, and all it took him was two upward diagonal swipes of his blade to make the gunfire stop. Those unfortunate enough to have been in his close proximity had all been cleaved neatly in half, in an exquisite dissection of mortal flesh as if for scientific purposes. The others were dyeing the asphalt with the ruinous stain of their foul lifeblood, the stench of their wet last breaths poisoning the very air around him as they dropped to the ground in ripped sacks of flesh and bone.

Zack and Angeal were openly staring at him with their swords raised in a fashion that had quite evidently passed on from mentor to protégé, no longer bothering to hide their stupefaction.

“Is that how you welcome an old _friend?_ ” He said nonchalantly, flicking the blood from his sword with a simple twist of his wrist. “But then again, comrades don’t throw one another into endless pits of mako, _do they?_ ”

The ‘General’ of the Shinra army was about to open his mouth only for his student to beat him to it, the youngest of them raising his free fist to emphasize his point as he spoke. “You’re killing innocent people! You’ve been hurting your friends, where’s your honor?!” The same fist was flung outward in a swipe not at all unlike _Genesis’_ never-ending theatrics as the spiky-haired soldier stepped even further, shaking and pointing his standard issue blade at him. “Don’t you see the amount of sorrow and anguish you’ve brought upon everyone?! What you’re doing is monstrous! The Sephiroth I knew was a SOLDIER! SOLDIER doesn’t mean monster! Or you’re not the Sephiroth I knew!”

Silver locks stained with scarlet fluid fell to one side as the green-eyed man tilted his head, watching as those youthful features twisted into rage. _Monster._ Fitting, really. Because he was a monster, the monster that the men he’d slaughtered before him had made him into. He would mete out that definition to the highest degree, no matter the cost. Shinra had sought a perfect specimen and he was _more_ than perfect. He was beyond the definition of immaculate, and the world crumbling before him would see that before they caved under the weight of his rage. _Monster._ And who was this little, pathetic speck of existence to question who he’d been? He didn’t know what he’d gone through, what he’d suffered only to get nothing in return. Letting an idle hand dance over Masamune’s blade, he narrowed his eyes...taking in his adversaries...calculating the possible outcomes before acting. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again, he had fought these two before...he had learned.

“Hmph.”

Twin blue eyes disappeared before him as the corrupt Lifestream swallowed him once more. Sephiroth allowed himself to relish it...bathe in it. Let the darkness consume him until it felt like an embodiment of his very soul. Tendrils of noir licked at his fingertips, forced themselves down his throat until he was very nearly choking with the force of it. He’d discovered-in the thick of it-that manipulating the Lifestream was a lot like manipulating mana; it was volatile...dangerous if you didn’t know how to control it. In his case, however, it bent to his will...retreated at his advance only to embrace him like a lover. When he resurfaced, he was standing behind the youngest of them, the tip of his sword poised at his back. He had the split-second satisfaction of watching ‘the puppy’ stiffen...of watching his former comrade begin a frantic scramble to save his former charge, terror and despair in his eyes…

...And then he drove Masamune straight through Fair.

The dark-haired man to his left let out a pained howl while the younger First sputtered and coughed, still dangling from his blade like a ragdoll before Sephiroth threw him aside and away, the force enough for the brick wall to his right to cave under the impact, burying the fading vessel of Angeal's protégé under a pile of dust and debris. The blue-eyed soldier made a move to get to his student’s side only to have to raise Buster Sword as Masamune nearly came close enough to claim his head.

The silver-haired man ‘tsk’ed, sparks lighting up their visages in the dead of the night as their blades grated together. “ _General_ , you’re getting rusty.” And with that, he disengaged the lock, sending his murderer as far away as he could from the building Fair was dying inside.

“SEPHIROTH!” Angeal yelled, rushing forward and bringing down his sword vehemently enough for the concrete to crack underneath their boots. This, Sephiroth parried with ease, letting the edge of the broad sword scrape across the heft of his, only for the older man to try and reach for the collar of his coat, probably trying to yank him up and repeat the very same movement. But those gloved fingers closed around wisps of black Lifestream as the ex-SOLDIER materialized right behind the ‘General’, sending a slash of blue hurtling at the man’s back. A barrier absorbed his attack before the former Commander leaped out of the way, putting as much distance between them as he could.

Turning halfway to his left, his beryl irises met anguished blue as lines of grim determination were etched into the visage before him. It was the same look from the mako reactor.

Raising Masamune, he didn’t wait; leaping forward and up in midair.

Hewley met him halfway with equal strength, but Sephiroth was far more superior; and the older man’s emotions, his sentimentality, and laughable notions about right, wrong and morality were severely blinding him, clouding his judgment. The dark-haired First was bound to make a mistake.

The green-eyed ex-General was patient; an apex predator lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. Their swords danced together, a twisted waltz of heft against length; dust obscuring their path as the stars twinkled above them; the majority of them hidden...veiled behind the fire and smoke that was the destruction he had wrought. It was-Sephiroth thought-quite fitting that Fair had perished. Fitting that Hewley had taken something from him that he could never obtain again. And while he didn’t regret losing that miniscule facet of what remained of his humanity, it was still theft. Maybe the death of his charge would teach the man before him that you could not regain that which you lost by pursuing honor, valor, and self-control. You could only regain it via permanent end...via conflagration and rage. Feinting to the left, Sephiroth drew his elbow back just in time to slam it into the older man’s temple, feeling a sort of savage satisfaction as he reeled. He gave him time to recover, he wasn’t a coward after all, and defeating a downed opponent of such caliber wasn’t a challenge.

“Have I given you despair?” He purred, his face a blank contrast to the mocking tone of his voice.

When the blue-eyed First had retained his footing he closed in with a series of wide, sweeping uppercuts, his feet moving almost mechanically through the motions. Angeal lunged and he dodged; disappearing into the Lifestream and reappearing behind him to execute an almost teasing slice to the back of his legs; just behind the knee. His former comrade stumbled somewhat, scarlet bloomed on the fabric of his fatigues and the bloodlust that rose inside him to answer it was almost impossible to resist. He _wanted_ this death, yes. But he wanted to drag it out...wring it by the neck and leave it wrecked and ruined on the ground. Sephiroth wanted the newly-instated ‘General’ to comprehend the pain he had been through for so many years, the pain he had ignored in favor of worshiping a company that had done nothing but bring the ‘less worthy’-the _different-_ to their knees. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER disappeared again and this time his adversary had but seconds to throw his blade up into a hastily executed lock, their faces so close that he could feel the breath from Hewley’s lungs brushing across his cheeks.

“Have you had _enough?_ ”

“No!” Angeal threw him backwards with brute strength. That was also one of the former Commander’s weaknesses. Compared to others, the blue-eyed First was still fast, but he wasn’t as nimble as Sephiroth. His was a perfect balance between strength and agility.

Breaking free just slightly, the older man performed a vertical cut, cleaving the air where the silver-haired former General had been a split second ago only for Sephiroth to leave in a whisper of air and a deep malevolent chuckle. Swinging Masamune upwards from behind, there was the familiar ring of metal and the ‘General’ was already up and in the air, leaping for the rooftops. Running away, like the coward he was. Sephiroth gave chase, feinting to the right, he quickly pivoted on his heel and brought his katana down, aiming for a debilitating slash from shoulder to the opposite hip. Buster Sword blocked at the last minute, the sheer force behind his attack enough to throw Angeal off balance.

Following through, he performed a series of zig-zag cuts, their blades meeting in quick succession in a shower of sparks as his murderer was forced to back away further and further, and if Sephiroth didn’t know Hewley good enough, he could see him falling to his demise from over the edge of the rooftop that was quickly approaching. But the older man leaped backwards, blue eyes trained on his visage before it vanished from the face of Gaia.

The back of a knitted First Class uniform connected with the hilt of his blade, just as Angeal was about to land on the rooftop of the building that had been in front of him only an infinitesimal moment ago. And the ex-General watched with a sort of savage amusement as his adversary dropped downwards like a dead weight, flailing for a moment before slamming his sword into the side of the building and regaining his footing on its heft.

“I won’t have enough until I’ve put you back where you belong!” The man standing below him spat, nothing but hatred in his voice. It was amusing, to see how the person always spewing about naive notions like dreams and honor could muster an emotion as ‘negative’ as resentment. The darkness in him responded to it, relished it and savored it as emerald irises looked down below.

Poised on the edge of a sword...just as he had been poised on the edge of oblivion. _Fitting indeed._ Sephiroth took a moment to revel in the moment; to compare the scene to that of a bird of prey looking down at its meal. Angeal was the picture of what he used to think was valuable; honor, valor, everything significant that had been so crudely ripped away from him. He didn’t miss it...no...he merely _resented_ it because it had done nothing but tear him apart from the inside out. And if the former Commander had not learned the consequences of serving such a regime by now...he never would. There was no room in him left for mercy, only contempt. Because he would _never_ show mercy to those weak enough to bend the knee before tyranny. Anyone who subjugated themselves before glut was nothing but a cog in a heinous machine. He would take that machine and smash it to pieces, drag its innards through fire and water until there was naught but dust. The green-eyed man smirked.

“...But you’re not going to do that, are you?” He murmured.

Sephiroth spread his wing and lunged.

To his credit, Hewley was no green initiate. He gave as good as he got. The shock in his eyes as the black plumage burst forth gave the younger man a vicious sort of thrill. Because _now_ he would see. But even then he didn’t falter. ...Even as the wall behind them crumbled with the force of his impact he rose to meet him as they slammed through mortar and falling roofbeams to fall into the living space of what was once an individual; now dead. The foundations cracked under the force of their combat and the low, synchronous hum of Masamune was an almost-soothing melody. Out through another wall and Sephiroth drove forward, relentless now, unable to stop as he finally knocked the Buster Sword away, delivered a merciless pivoted kick to the center of that broad chest and sent the older man flying. Angeal smashed into the pavement and the harsh huff of air expelled from his lungs was a beautiful noise.

The former General didn’t allow himself to linger over it, he swept forward again, executed an on-the-pass and then drove his blade clean through the apex where shoulder met arm. Again, to his credit, the blue-eyed soldier didn’t make a noise, he merely clenched his teeth and fought against it...even as blood welled dark and sweet around metallic silver he fought like a man possessed. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER didn’t allow it this time, leaned forward until the heft of his sword was pressing through muscle and sinew. Slamming his boot down on the crook of the elbow attached to the hand that grasped the Buster sword, he relished the thick, melodious crack of bone before he kicked the weapon away. It skittered across the asphalt to glitter ominously, defeatedly a few feet from them. He then let his foot replace his sword, swinging it over his head as he swayed closer still. Closer, until he could look into the depths of those agonized irises before speaking.

“You’re not going to do it.” He repeated, softly. “Not because you don’t _want_ to, but because you _can’t._ ”

A big gloved hand rose to curl around his ankle, and Sephiroth pushed even harder, a savage smile tugging on the corner of his lips as a pained breathless gasp escaped the individual before him. Those blue eyes were boring into his before Angeal’s good hand nearly punched him in the face before he caught it. The silver-haired man ‘hmph’ed, tilting his head in tandem with his wrist, observing the man underneath his boot with a detached clinicality until there was a crunch-pop, pain twisting the General’s visage into a wince as the wrist of his good hand was dislocated. Not that the former Commander was ambidextrous anyway.

“And you thought you could defeat me.” He whispered, cold. “To send me back where I _belong_.”

Swiftly, he yanked on the black turtleneck, heaving the dark-haired First up as he flapped his wing, soaring to dizzying heights in a matter of seconds before letting Angeal fall. But the older man’s demise wouldn’t come so easy and swift.

The ex-General went in for the kill.

Thrusting his blade forward, he caught the former Commander in his good shoulder, flinging him upwards only to follow him with a series of purposeful thrusts that ripped through bone and sinew alike; eight of them, in rapid succession. Imbedding Masamune in his murderer’s abdomen, he watched the carmine crawling down the edge of his katana with indifference before flicking his weapon free, sending the wrecked body hurtling toward the ground.

There was the massive *thump* of cracked asphalt, and a thick plume of dirt and dust rose up to obscure where his opponent had fallen before an unseen foe slammed into him, appearing out of nowhere and powerful enough to send him crashing into one of the nearby buildings; debris crumbled around and over him. There was a carnal roar, a streak of crimson before his eyes and the only thing that registered in his mind was _confusion_ before he was hit again, forced to scramble backwards as a winged demon descended from the sky, eyes blazing, jaws screaming feral justice. He met it erratically, haphazardly, because it was all he could do. Masamune seemed to groan under the weight of the blows forced upon him as he threw it up with both hands; blood running from his fingertips as he was forced to momentarily clutch the heft of the blade. It occurred to him-in a moment of pure indignance-that he'd _never_ been forced to use such a reckless, juvenile tactic before. But the being before him was _fast;_ possibly as fast as he was, if not more. Another blow and his head slammed back into the rubble, stars bursting in front of his yes. He coughed and copper spilled over his lips. Enraged, Sephiroth struck out blindly, managed to land a hit that sent his adversary flying several feet backwards, skidding on the rough ground but never losing its footing. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER hastened to his feet, dropped into a fighting stance…

...And came face to face with his father.

What _could_ have been his father, he thought idly, a sneer curling his lips before he could help it. If he hadn't locked himself away and chosen to sleep through the majority of his childhood. Vincent's eyes held none of the recognition they once had... physically warped and twisted as he was...his persona a deformation that the younger man recoiled from, and it took him a long time to realize what that emotion was, why it was so physically repellent. Coiled in his belly it slithered forth, rose up in his throat to spill over his tongue like oily rot. Sephiroth _hated_ himself for it, because he’d sworn never to feel such emotions again...sworn he would never shrivel and cower before anything else. But he was forced to give this feeling a name, because doing otherwise was impossible...he didn't have that option.

Sephiroth was _afraid._

And he took that fear, morphed into a fury so virile it seemed to burst out of him in a kind of enraged cry. At the same time he disgustingly acknowledged that that cry was pained, that that cry was as much a question as it was a challenge. That that cry was the twisted, shattered remains of a lonely child dressed in scrubs... shivering under the heat of a medical lamp while tear-filled emerald eyes begged for the answer to why the world could be so _cruel._ Something in him cracked and fell loose, shuddered open like a thick veil pulling back just slightly. And he didn't understand why it had to be _him_ that breached that initial gap, that tore that darkness asunder to let just the _slightest_ bit of light shine forth. He shuddered for it, kicked it back even as Chaos seemed to falter, as those monstrous features blurred to reveal something slightly more humanistic, something equally agonized and-further-guilty.

Angeal made a weak, wet noise, and the rubble shifted.

Immediately, the moment was broken. The beast before him growled threateningly before dashing away. Sephiroth gave chase, because he _had_ to, because he would _not break._ But even as he sprinted through the hole in the wall the demon had made, there was a massive cloud of dust, the sound of a huge amount of stone and soil shifting. It obscured his vision, left him narrow-eyed and frantically searching for his...target?... _targets?_ When his eyesight didn't do him any good he threw himself forward mindlessly only to be knocked back. Scrabbling upwards he had the privilege of hearing that terrible cry again before a massive red shape exploded upwards in a flurry of enormous wings...Angeal clutched in two muscular arms as it wheeled, roared again and then headed Northeast at a velocity so great it was nothing but a bright scarlet blur across his vision. And so Vincent Valentine- _his father_ -stole the glory of the kill from him; took the ruined body of a traitor and ferried it home to Hell. And Sephiroth was left _seething_ in the rubble below because he knew it would be foolish to follow, he couldn't fly half as fast. Standing the silver-haired man returned his focus to the city that was aflame around him. Junon would still burn.

And then, _then_ Sephiroth would show Angeal Hewley the meaning of pain.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Heavy…his heart was so heavy.

Soaring through dark skies at impossible speeds, Vincent Valentine looked out of Chaos’ eyes from his ‘back seat’ and wondered if it was all really worth it. Angeal was limp in his arms; alive, but barely. He forced himself not to panic over it, to set his sights on his intended goal and not the fact that his partner was bleeding profusely all over his body. Beneath him, the ground was an indiscernible blur; the terrain choppy at best. He knew better than to try to take control of the situation, Chaos was focused for once…his sights not set on destruction but destination, arrival. In different circumstances he knew that this would be pivotal, because his demon had never before shown that he was capable of putting his bloodlust aside in favor of aiding another. The winged, twisted beast inside him was-as far as he’d always assumed-incapable of compassion or concern. Now, however, he could only be wearily grateful. 

He’d returned to find HQ in a state of panic.

Stepping from the helicopter onto the landing pad, Vincent had been inundated with a sea of Administrators and Seconds who were telling him that the population of the Northern Continent had been stripped down to zero. There were no refugees, no survivors, nothing but smoke and fire along the line of the sea...wrecked and ruined villages and bodies strewn for miles. Nobody knew who or-as was more commonly muttered- _ ’what’  _ it was...but a sinking feeling in his stomach told the dark-haired gunslinger all he needed to know. He hadn’t been in Nibelheim to witness what had happened, and he hadn’t been present to watch what had occurred afterwards...but the signs were telling. Mindless carnage, victims laid open with great, gaping wounds that could only come from a specific type of blade. A guard had pulled him to the side to inform him that Angeal had gone to head off the ‘mysterious’ attacker in Junon and his blood had turned to ice. Because if Sephiroth had returned from the dead...there was a very good chance he was stronger than he’d been in the first place. One of the watchmen muttered something about their General emerging from his rooms white as a ghost, eyes flicking frantically over the walls.

Vincent had sprinted up to the apartment to find Masamune gone.

He didn’t hesitate after that, didn’t even pause to think. The scarlet-eyed ex-Turk had stumbled back out to the helipad and let Chaos come forth, seized with the singular desire to get there on time. He’d wanted to curse as he flew out of Midgar, wanted to scream at the demon to fly  _ faster  _ but Chaos could already sense his impatience, and while Vincent had little say once he’d emerged as to where they would go...it seemed that the primordial beast within him had the same aim as he did. Flying over Junon was surreal. His heart seemed to shrivel in his chest as he observed the destruction wrought on a city filled to the brim with innocent, unknowing individuals. It was worse-in retrospect-knowing that such heartless slaughter had been mitigated by his own flesh and blood. He was-abruptly-sincerely grateful that Lucrecia was not alive to see this...he was absolutely certain that it would break her. 

He was almost too late.

Arriving at the scene of the battle to see the bodies of a squadron of men scattered haphazardly about in pools of blood had brought a kind of righteous indignation to his chest. Because despite the regime they had worked for, they’d still followed Angeal faithfully as he tried to make SOLDIER a better place. They’d still wanted to stand for something better, surely that had to count for something. The corpses strewn across the streets were nearly unrecognizable, so disfigured had they been in their demise. Ripped open, gutted from the inside out...if Vincent hadn’t known better he’d have assumed that they’d been torn asunder in order to be consumed by a carnivorous monster. And he guessed that in some way they had. Because this wasn’t humanistic in any way, shape, or form. This was a mindless bloodbath, a heinous revel in nothing but the kill. Even Chaos seemed to falter at the sight of it, and Chaos was a soul-eating abomination from-as far as he was concerned-the very depths of the earth itself.

And then he saw Angeal.

He didn’t see him so much as  _ watched  _ him fall from an impossible height, thrown from the grip of a winged specter covered in ash and blood. Every miniscule facet of his soul seemed to scream in a kind of disbelieving agony as he fell, as he crashed to the ground to be buried by rubble. Because they hadn’t had enough  _ time.  _ He’d only just gotten comfortable with the concept that maybe,  _ maybe  _ he might have something- _ someone- _ in his life that was there on a semi-permanent basis. Someone who didn’t bank their relationship off that edge of panic, off a greater obligation to something ugly and twisted. Angeal was  _ his  _ and now he was broken and bleeding under piles of shattered asphalt and concrete like a twisted and mangled doll. And the black, insidious shadow of what remained of his son was rushing forward to deliver a final blow, that face twisted with dark purpose as he dove from his lofty skyward station to descend in a hail of feathers and fury.

_ No.  _

That was the only thought in his head as Chaos rose to the occasion, as he bellowed his anger to the heavens and knocked him into a building. For once, Vincent was in complete agreement with his mindless focus, his only goal to subdue the monster that had dared hurt the one thing in his life that had shown him goodness without judgement, who had not bothered to focus on the monster within but the man without. And so when Sephiroth scrabbled backwards he followed, drove forward again and again as dust and debris flew around him, snarled in a kind of righteous contempt when the heft of that barbarous blade was thrown up in a kind of desperate self defense. Because  _ no one  _ was going to take that which he loved again, no one was going to rip his heart from his body and dash it to the ground. Further, until that head of silver hair was smashed into the ground, until those green eyes grew dazed. Until he was frantically shoved back in a discoordinated attempt to defend, his adversary rose and recognition flashed across his visage.

And then Sephiroth screamed.

It wasn’t a scream, really. It was more like a howl. Ugly, dark and laced with so much pain that it seemed to shake the very foundations of his soul. Because the look in the younger man’s eyes was the look of a man brought to ruin. Wrought from torture, from confusion and rage, bereavement and grief; Vincent looked into the eyes of a murderous wretch and saw a  _ human being.  _ A twisted, mangled, sick human being but a human being nonetheless. A human who had never known love except by the hands of someone who’d been ripped away from him before he could solidify any sort of lasting connection. A human who had known nothing but the agony others could wreak upon him, nothing but how he was used. And in that moment he knew he couldn’t kill Sephiroth...because Sephiroth was still there. Sephiroth was buried under layers of horror, under whatever death must have done to his mind...but he was still there. Surprisingly, Chaos seemed to sense this as well, seemed to understand the terrible agony that was the younger man’s rage...and he felt the demon begin to retreat, felt himself rise to the surface….

...And then Angeal groaned.

Instantly, his priorities changed, Chaos’ priorities changed. Because he had to get Angeal back to HQ, had to make sure he was healed. So when he turned his back on his adversary it was with the knowledge that while there might be some good left in Sephiroth, he didn’t have the time to seek it out now. When the green-eyed man had pursued them, his vessel merely had to knock him back...like swatting a fly. And it was the same burning, enraged beryl irises that had followed him into the sky...watched him wing away with an expression of dark promise. He didn’t have the mental strength or the courage to fathom what that expression might mean. There wasn’t enough time, he’d be surprised if he got back to HQ with the man in his arms still alive and breathing. The sense of panic that he’d held at bay for so long threatened to swallow him several times, but it seemed to feed Chaos’ sense of urgency, so he allowed it. 

By the time they reached the landing pad at Headquarters Angeal had stopped aspirating twice. 

The swarm of medics that awaited them was surprising; for a moment, he was disoriented. Then his eyes landed on a man at the back of the crowd. A blue-eyed, tortured looking soldier that he knew was a part of the General’s personal squadron. Bitterly, he supposed he must have run at the first sight of Sephiroth. Even more bitterly, he acknowledged that Sephiroth must have let him...must have known that the news of his return would spread if he let anyone escape alive. Still, his cowardice did have its payouts; medical was fully prepared to whisk the former Commander away and deal with his wounds. Reeve accosted him only seconds later, inundated with questions. They discussed sending a large force to Junon, but Vincent fought vehemently against it, three-quarters of the city would be destroyed at this point. He despised the idea of letting even a fraction of Gaia’s population die, but Sephiroth would have the upper hand if they came to him. He would not let any good men perish for a wasted effort, and he knew Angeal wouldn’t either. 

And so it was that Vincent found himself sitting next to a cot in Recovery with his head in his hands only to hear the individual next to him shift. He watched cautiously as his partner opened his eyes, took a deep shuddering breath and then squeezed them shut again as a thousand emotions flickered across his face. The crimson-eyed ex-Turk wanted to apologize; for the slaughter of his men...for the death of Zack...because he knew that Fair had followed the blue-eyed First wherever he went. The fact that he wasn’t sitting here with him was enough to tell him what kind of fate had befallen him. Despairingly, the ebon-haired gunslinger wondered when enough was enough, when the killing, the hatred, and the betrayal would stop. When he’d gone into the ground, it was the with the same kind of mentality. He knew he couldn’t return there now, but the sense of devastating resignation was achingly familiar. So when he opened his mouth, it was to say something comforting…but in retrospect he supposed it wasn’t comforting at all.

“...There’s still good in him.” 

Some noise between a groan and something pained escaped Angeal’s lips as he tried to shift. The bare muscular torso was wrapped in white bandages, hugging the former Commander’s abdomen before going further up to wrap around his left shoulder. The younger man’s right arm was in some sort of sling; the medic that had brought Vincent to the room had explained it was more for letting the joints heal properly than anything. And that they had done all they could, it was now up to mako and the General’s own body to do the rest. 

Another groan, and the ex-Turk was standing beside the bed, helping the blue-eyed soldier sit up. Those ocean-colored irises were avoiding him, glued to some point on the bed, the downturn of Angeal’s lips never leaving. The First seemed older since the last time he saw him, broken if Vincent was willing to go that far, and the marksman couldn’t really blame him. 

“There’s  _ nothing  _ redeemable left in him.” 

The statement was jarring, both in its abruptness and the resigned weary tone it was uttered with. The crimson-eyed man was disbelieving at first. Because it was such an odd thing for his companion to say. The very same individual whose beliefs in honor were unshakable, now seemed to have his very foundations rattled; to have succumbed to hopelessness and defeat. So soon. It was unacceptable. The older man chose his next words carefully, because he knew what he said could either make or break their current conversation. But he wanted to emphasize the importance of what his son’s history had done to him...and he needed to do it in a way that was easy for Angeal to understand. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to speak.

“Sephiroth is a psychopath.”

When Angeal snorted in a way that clearly said  _ ‘No, really?’  _ he shook his head.

“But I don’t think he’s a self-made sociopath...you used to see it a lot when I was a Turk. …When Shinra was still building up in secret labs and underground projects. There were subjects before you three, and while they didn’t survive very long they developed traits that were distinctly murderous, distinctly damaging...not because they wanted to, but because when you put a human being in a cell and teach them to kill, that’s all they learn to love. Sephiroth was able to circumvent that...probably due to his biology...but also because of Genesis.” When the younger man opened his mouth he held up a hand, his expression imploring. “He latched onto a single individual, showed him affection where he showed no one else affection...that’s also very common with such conditions. But it also put Genesis in a very tenuous position, because when he chose to leave, Sephiroth immediately categorized that as a betrayal. That’s how psychopaths work; they want things a certain way...it’s compulsive, they can’t control it. So when Genesis chose an opposing path...that was an automatic ostracization. Instantly, he was just like everyone else, and unfortunately that had horrific consequences. I’m not condoning what he did, what he’s  _ doing,  _ but I think it bears mentioning that he’s doing it because he doesn’t feel like he has a choice; and I don’t know what the Lifestream did to his mind.” 

Angeal was ominously quiet.

“When Lucrecia forced me to merge with Chaos, I hated it. Chaos is...murderous, just as murderous as Sephiroth. Immediately, I considered myself tainted, damaged in a way that was irreparable. I hated it, I hated _him._ But the more I look at it, the more I see that Chaos is just as trapped as I am. He didn’t ask for this, just like I didn’t. He’s not human so he doesn’t have the social constructs we do, and while Sephiroth has been around social constructs, nobody bothered to teach him any of it before they threw him into the program, before they put him out in the field and forced him to kill. How do you expect anything- _anyone-_ to turn to anything else without teaching them something different? I don’t know what Hojo was _thinking,_ really. He had to have known what he was doing...what he was creating...the question is... _why?_ ” Vincent scrubbed a hand over his face. “Chaos cares about you.” He continued, and this time his partner’s incredulity was instantaneous; he laughed bitterly. 

“It sounds strange, but his focus was all you, I couldn’t have flown you back here without him. And it goes to show that sometimes monsters are only monsters because they have to be, because they don’t have a choice. I think capturing Sephiroth would be ideal; I’m not saying we should let him go free. But if we could rehabilitate him, it would be worth it.” Scarlet eyes, disappeared under onyx lashes. “And I know you don’t want to think about this right now, but with the way things are going, we don’t have a lot of time to make choices. I’m sorry about your men, about Zack, they didn’t deserve any of it...but you...you taught me not to seek unnecessary death. I’m trying to do that...I’m trying to...honor what you taught me.” He laid a careful hand on Angeal’s uninjured arm, was somewhat relieved when he wasn’t shoved away. “I love you.” He continued. “And because I love you, I know...a little bit...about how your heart works. I know you’re angry right now, but I don’t want you to look back and have even more regrets than you already have now. Killing Sephiroth seems like a pretty good idea at the moment, I know. But down the line...as the years go by, is it really going to be what you wanted?” 

Angeal’s silence stretched onwards.

It was understandable and somewhat encouraging because it meant that the younger man was contemplating his words instead of just shoving them aside. It spoke volumes about how much his words mattered to the blue-eyed General currently holding his forehead in a bandaged-wrapped left hand, and possibly on the verge of crumbling. Vincent wanted to reach out and hold him, but he maintained his distance, not wanting to impede on his companion’s personal space, and thought process as well.

It was a difficult situation, and what he was asking, the decision that he’d involuntarily forced onto those almost imperceptibly slouched shoulders was even more harder to make. But the crimson-eyed man had to, he had to try to make Angeal see reason, to see what he had seen in that dilapidated building because that was all he could do for his son. It was borne out of his desire to make things right as much as it was stemming from his logic, from the sense of honor the dark-haired First had instilled into him. Because Sephiroth was already collateral damage; one of many left by Shinra. They all were, and for a brief moment he wondered when the extent of the company’s corruption would come to a stop, when the hurt and the suffering would cease, and the rehabilitation would begin; when they’d be free from the taint, the stigma that haunted their past which had spilled over into their now, and possibly their future. 

Vincent had meant every single one of those words, with a conviction that was almost terrifying; with the very same conviction that was urging him not to stand by and watch as Sephiroth was sacrificed yet again. 

There was a rustle of fabric as Angeal slowly stood up, wincing slightly before finally facing him with grief-laden irises. The former Commander’s left hand settled tentatively on his hip and just as it tightened to drew them forward, _ together _ , the door to the room opened and the moment was lost. The gunslinger put a distance of a couple of feet between them as a brunet cadet entered, snapping at attention and muttering a curt “Sir!”

“At ease.” The dark-haired soldier muttered wearily, almost too low.

“There’s an emergency board meeting. President Tuesti sent me to ask if you’ll be able to attend. And of course, they asked for Mr. Valentine’s presence as well.” The hazel eyes were focused on some point on the wall on the side of the cot, the posture of the soldier confident which was nice for a change.

“We’ll be there shortly.” The blue-eyed First said resolutely, cutting off any form of protest Vincent might have had before continuing. “Dismissed.” 

As soon as Reeve’s messenger left, by the time the door closed shut with a hiss, the gunslinger found himself inside the younger man’s embrace. It was awkward because of the sling holding Angeal’s right arm in place, but no less reassuring and welcome. A left hand snaked around his side to hold tightly to his back, fingers digging in as though in an attempt to make sure of the marksman’s presence. His companion’s posture was tense, those eyes avoiding his yet again as a pale forehead was pressed against his shoulder. The silence that fell around them was oppressive, foreboding, and rightfully so, before the deep baritone of a breaking voice that was almost inaudible broke it.

“He killed Zack. He  _ killed _ him… in front of  _ my eyes _ …” And those words were forced, hissed from between pearl white teeth as Angeal continued. “Tossed him aside like he was  _ nothing _ .” There was a pained intake of breath. “ _ Stepped in my way _ so I wouldn’t be able to go to his side… So he’d  **_die_ ** somewhere dark, cold and  _ alone _ .” A gravid moment of tangible unwanted intermission. “He was my honor and dreams, he was like  _ a son  _ to me, my  _ living legacy _ … and he’s-...! He’s gone now.” The hand against his back was bunching up his attire, clutching in a fist so tight the frame in his arms was shaking with the strain of it, the strain of repressed emotions. And as quickly as Vincent had found himself inside those arms, he found himself without; found himself gazing back at blue lakes that were swirling with so much anguish it was heart-wrenching. “And you...you  _ expect  _ me to let him  _ live _ ? To let a man- _ a monster _ who’s wiped out an entire continent, killed hundreds of innocent people in a fit of rage, who  _ raped _ the very man he’d  _ claimed _ to love,  _ live _ ?”

He tried to reach out for the younger man’s hand but the distance between them only yawned, Hewley striding toward the door. And just as the red-eyed man had been about to open his mouth to ask him to wait, the former Commander was gone. And despite what he’d been told, despite everything he now knew about Sephiroth...it didn’t change how he felt. Because even if he’d abandoned him for over twenty years...even if the results of that abandonment were so heinous he could barely breathe when he thought of them…Vincent was still a father.

And Vincent wanted his son to live.

* * *

The headquarters had been up and running, buzzing with nervous energy and fear amongst personnel throughout the night, or rather day considering when he’d came to, it’d been almost dawn.

They had almost ran their entire reserve of Turks and helicopters dry, sending choppers flying across the globe to report back to base about the next city the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was going to set his sight on. 

The decision to do so, they had made in the emergency meeting. It was the first verdict ever they’d all agreed on so swiftly it was somewhat unsettling. It had been Tseng’s idea, and it seemed a very good idea at the moment; but it remained to be seen how it’d fare against the rising tide of darkness that was about to consume their world.

For their next subject though, they had poured all their resources and ideas for the next several hours. Bringing out file after file out of the archives, learning of the secret facilities that Vincent had spoken of, of the horrors Shinra had hidden from the very start of its unrivaled and gruesome tyranny. There was-Angeal hadn’t been able not to lament-no time at all that he could use to mourn the death of his protege. Desperate times call for desperate measures or something along those lines. It was a blessing and at the same time, a curse, that he was a General, and as such he could exercise military discipline to push those personal feelings,  _ his grief _ , back for as long as was required of him, in order to find a solution that seemed to be escaping the cumulative mind of their board. 

Apparently, there was an underwater facility and mako reactor in the city that was currently burning somewhere against the horizon. And another one, here, at Midgar, right below them; below the plate, even below the slums, somewhere under the ground. The sheer amount of information had been mind boggling, let alone reading about the atrocities that were taking place in Deepground. And while they had started off talking about how to deal with Sephiroth-to which Angeal had proposed detainment which had been the reason they had ended up uncovering these heinous secrets-now Reeve was finding a way to get down there while the rest of the board was calculating the possibility of having to face yet another enemy.

Not that they were going to do that at the moment. Whatever was lurking down there could wait; stay there as it had been until after they had dealt away with Sephiroth and locked him up somewhere he couldn’t get out.

Angeal hadn’t let that discovery distract him from the pressing matter at hand. The crimson-eyed ex-Turk had been astonished when the former Commander had voiced his thought. In all honesty, despite the sorrow constricting his heart like a vice, the dark-haired First couldn’t deny the truth behind those words, couldn’t repudiate the reasoning, couldn’t renounce his honor and decide that spilling Sephiroth’s blood would make anything better. He couldn’t just pretend that burying Buster Sword in the younger man’s chest cavity would bring Zack back to him, that it’d quell the hollow feeling expanding inside him and fill it with anything other than despair, than disappointment; at himself and at the man he used to call his friend. 

The General had to find a way to contain his former comrade-in-arms, and do it fast. Because the longer the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER walked freely upon Gaia meant more innocent blood shed, more lives lost, and Angeal couldn’t abide by it. Right now, he had a mission, and he needed to act quickly and efficiently.

By afternoon, Junon had surely fallen. Despite all those security measures, despite the harbor being an impregnable fortress of concrete and steel, it had been conquered in the expanse of less than a day.

Angeal had already been on the landing pad-dismissing every word concerned with his well-being-about to get on the chopper en-route to what remained of the burning city where he’d nearly died to assess the damage Sephiroth had left in his wake when  _ it  _ happened.

Veld had called him to quickly follow an unidentified target who’d emerged from the Exhibition Room in an explosion; called him because he was the only First they had now to dispatch this individual who’d been running around Midgar like a man possessed, leaving a trail of hemoglobin across the city, and not harming a single soul despite their weird- _ and complex _ -attire which was probably armed to their teeth.

And that was how the dark-haired First found himself in Viridiare Paths, Vincent’s unmistakable aura a reassuring presence against his consciousness because were he to fail in subduing their enemy, were the individual currently limping toward a weeping willow to become violent, the older man could probably save the day in his stead.

Angeal had told the men on board the chopper to stand down as he hesitantly approached his target who seemed completely oblivious to his presence or had decided to pay him no heed. There didn’t seem to be any weaponry hidden in the armor from where the General was currently standing, aside from two sets of curved blades emerging from a device perched atop vambraces just shy of the elbows and extending past metal gauntlets, made from some sort of  _ translucent red light?!  _

Frowning, the former Commander watched as the target’s right hand rose; there was a hiss of a latch opening, metal-clad fingers taking the helmet off only to reveal a wealth of auburn tresses. Taking a cautious small step to the side, it was like Angeal had seen a ghost.

Paralyzed, he stood. Because this couldn’t be.

It had to be a copy.

Because the images of Genesis taking his last breath inside Sephiroth’s arms were still there in his mind, not fresh but not forgotten either. And the utterance that passed his lips wasn’t voluntary, it couldn’t be stopped, because what he would have given and still would give to have his friend back, to have the redhead back, to watch him live, breathe and be free in the world they had been creating… All the emotions he had somehow repressed seemed to finagle their way to the forefront of his mind. And in his eyes, this person, this man in front of him that was on his knees, head thrown back, with that unmistakable face wearing the same resigned expression Angeal had seen on his childhood friend’s when he’d  _ died _ -the same ghost of a smile that was so wrong on so many levels-was Genesis… Clone or not. 

And those weird claws...were poised against a porcelain neck.

The blue-eyed First’s world nearly crumbled because only just now a flicker of hope had kindled inside his broken heart only to be snatched away. He couldn’t, he  _ couldn’t _ survive watching Genesis die again. He couldn’t survive having yet another friend ripped out of his arms to be swallowed by the voracious jaws of death.

_ No! _

“ _ Genesis! _ ” He called, rushing forward without thinking, his good arm grasping the offending wrist as the redhead went limp and fell forward against the green grass. The red blades flickered a couple of times before vanishing, causing panic to rise up in him, smothering him in frigid waves as a pained noise erupted from his throat.

Flopping the body to the side with his hand, his fingers tried to wiggle enough room between the pale throat and the metal of the armor so he could check for a pulse but to no avail. Leaning his head forward, he was minutely assured to find that his friend was still breathing but the rhythm was petering out.

“Help!” The raven-haired soldier called out, trying to rid himself of the sling around his right arm so he could cradle the body in his arms but to no avail. He was being too slow. He’d be late. Late again. Just as he had been,  _ and Zack…  _ Hopelessness was bubbling up his throat, choking him, making him feel absolutely miserable and alone. Something in him knew that he was panicking, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t watch another of his loved ones die… There was the sound of boots coming from behind, and a strong arm curled over his good shoulder as he crumbled to his knees beside Genesis, not able to stop the pitiful “Help...” from passing his lips. The sling was halfway undone while he watched with blurring vision; lowering his head, his eyes hidden behind a trembling hand as he wept quietly, not for himself, but for his comrades. For Zack, for the Genesis and Sephiroth from a time far removed…

The arm, it turned out, was a member of his platoon, a Second he had known for many years though his name escaped him for the moment. He attempted to steady him, but it did nothing to assuage the panic and despair that was threatening to swallow him alive. There was the auditory hail of another set of feet, and this time it was a medic with his bag. 

“Step back please.” He said, his face blank of emotion, his stance entirely professional. When Angeal failed to do so the mask slipped a bit, but was soon back in place. “Sir, you need to step back so I can save your friend.”

Reluctantly, the General complied, allowed himself to be gently hauled upwards; moved back several feet to watch with an awful, anticipatory sickness curling in his belly. Two other medics hastened to join the first, crouching next to the former Commander and talking to each other rapidly. Dazedly, the blue-eyed First tried to stitch together his thoughts, tried to figure out what was _going on._ First Sephiroth and now Genesis?! Was it a coincidence? He couldn’t think about it, couldn’t fathom what was happening. With a thrill of dread, he realized that he was now in the presence of an individual whom the silver-haired ex-soldier would possibly slaughter the entirety of Gaia to get a hold of. Fiercely, determinedly, even through his haze of panic he determined that he would _never_ let that happen. 

“Take orders from me.” The first medic said flatly. “Airway is clear, begin CPR.”

Two of the aforementioned men fell into performing the previously stated task, one poised to execute chest compressions and the other with a hand-held aspirator over that familiar face. The final member of the hastily assembled healthcare team was working to get the redhead’s armor off, fingers flitting across fastenings until he was partially successful.

Overall, the damage wasn’t bad. 

Genesis didn’t have any major injuries, though there was the mutter of  _ ‘concussion’  _ as a latex-sheathed hand lifted scarlet-wreathed lids. This was quickly followed by  _ ‘mako withdrawal’  _ and he made to start forward as one of them palmed a hypodermic needle filled with glowing green liquid, but a hasty gesture forced him to step back.

“He’ll need to be weaned off the excess.” was the detached comment. “You can’t just stop this sort of thing cold-turkey.” 

There was a rattling, muted gasp and his childhood friend’s body seemed to shudder.

“We’ve got resuscitation. Steady breathing, mild tachycardia, focus on wounds.” 

The red-headed soldier stirred and it was like watching a ghost rise from the dead. Really, that was  _ exactly  _ what it was. Because he had grieved for Genesis, Angeal had mourned his death thoroughly and completely and thought he’d be able to continue on with this life. Now, none of that mattered. He didn’t resent it, he was simply in a state of numbed shock. Vaguely, he registered that something was amiss...that someone should be there that wasn’t. Dully, he acknowledged that he hadn’t seen Vincent, that he was nowhere within his immediate vision. Some part of him was deeply hurt by this, but he shoved it away in favor of focus. He could worry about that later, after he’d figured all of this out. There was a ragged cough and the medics stepped back hastily, their job finished. Some of the other men-soldiers mostly-had started forward as if to detain their former Commander...casting uncertain glances at their General. Dimly, Angeal acknowledged that he’d forgotten that the scarlet-haired man was technically a war criminal.

“Stand down.” He gritted out.

Genesis opened his eyes.

The same blue eyes that were usually overflowing with too much emotion, too much zest, were now cold as ice, like frozen lakes in the very continent the redhead’s ex-lover had emptied of inhabitants. The thought that maybe this was another clone flickered in his mind before it got snuffed out as those irises looked around for an infinitesimal moment before landing on him. 

A corner of a cerise lip quirked downwards, the pale face scrunching up in an expression of both a sneer and unfathomable grief before the redhead turned his head away, burying his face in short stalks of grass. 

“You’re so adamant on betraying me, aren’t you Angeal?” was the almost inaudible trembling whisper.

The dark-haired First frowned, not moving in his spot as he tried to comprehend what his childhood friend was saying through the thick numb fog that had settled over his brain.

“Why didn’t they send  _ Sephiroth  _ to take me, huh?”

And it hit him.

Really, it slammed into him, shaking him out of his stupor. And of course, Angeal Hewley was an idiot. Because if this was really his childhood friend, Genesis probably didn’t even know what had happened during the past three months. Didn’t know they had reformed Shinra, didn’t know that he had murdered their comrade only for him to rise from the dead, stronger than ever. And how to tell him... What to tell him, actually...

Though for the betrayal he had to dig deeper still, to search through his recollections and remember a letter hidden on the back of a frame, a letter written with words of their childhood and a promise he hadn’t kept. He had always wondered what had happened, how had Shinra managed to detain the former First, and the only answer he’d ever come up with had been Turks. He’d never really asked them, and neither Veld nor Tseng had come to him about it; Angeal had, at one point, decided that there had been no use pursuing culprits about that matter...because Genesis had been dead and so had Sephiroth, and while that had only left him, he’d been adamant on moving forward and not letting their deaths go to waste; there had been no use dwelling on the past.

The past though, didn’t seem to want to remain there, or so it seemed.

Tentatively, haltingly, he stepped forward only to fall on his knees again. 

Genesis didn’t face him, still lying where he had been for the past agonizingly long minutes. A thousand thoughts were racing through his brain; a jumbled, agonized coagulation of cognizance that seemed to settle on one thing and then rush to the next. Immediately, he knew he had to reassure him somehow...but he didn’t know what he could possibly say to make him feel better. Telling him that he was sorry wasn’t enough, it would  _ never  _ be enough. Nothing he said could possibly make any of this better. Bowing his head, Angeal swallowed thickly, squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whatever deity may have been listening that he wouldn’t screw this up, that he wasn’t going to slur everything about. He pushed the words about ‘honor’ and ‘relief’ from the tip of his tongue. There was no place for habituality here, he’d used habituality for too often in his life and it had brought him absolutely nothing. He wouldn’t insult the redhead before him by falling back on the comfort of dogma. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. There was a long silence afterwards in which neither of them spoke; as it stretched on, he felt himself begin to tremble. “I’m sorry.” He repeated, and this time it was ragged. “I’m a piss-poor friend, a horrible soldier, and an even worse man. I gave up on you, I didn’t look for you and I didn’t question anything about your death.” When the words began to flow he couldn’t stop, he merely kept going. “I ignored your pain, I didn’t see it, dismissed everything you tried to tell me because I was blind to what was in front of me. I betrayed you as surely as Shinra betrayed all of us. I don’t know what you’ve been through, I won’t pretend like I know, I won’t insult you like that.” Genesis still wouldn’t look at him. “You should know that Shinra-as you’ve known it-has been destroyed. Hojo is dead. The President has been imprisoned and those who stood for its regime have fallen. Reeve is in charge now, and I’ve been-I’ve been-” He faltered and took a deep breath. “I’ve been promoted to General.” He grasped his good arm to keep himself from falling apart. “I know.” He said thickly. “I know everything…and I’m  _ sorry. _ ” The dark-haired man forced himself to look forward before he spoke again, forced himself to watch the reaction on the redhead’s face. “Sephiroth is dead. I killed him myself. He...he lost his mind, after you...after you disappeared, I had to do it. I don’t think it really matters to you, but there was nothing left of who he was. He...he was a monster, he  _ made  _ himself a monster.”

At those last words, Genesis turned to look at him, his features unreadable. It was as though he was gauging his sincerity, and Angeal really didn’t need to open himself up for the redhead to see everything that was broken and falling apart inside him.

Slowly, very slowly his childhood friend sat up, his blue irises leaving him to glance at the men behind the dark-haired First before meeting his eyes again.

There was a peal of bitter hollow laughter, the scarlet-haired soldier throwing his head back before raising his hands to cover his face. The mirthless sound finally died down and suddenly Angeal was staring at a disbelieving visage. 

“You’re  _ lying _ .” The former First spat, his eyes never leaving his face. And the younger man didn’t have to say anything for the redhead to understand that he was in fact telling the truth.

“ _ You’re lying through your  _ **_teeth_ ** .” He repeated, louder, rising to his feet. Behind him, there was the shuffle of clothes as his men probably readied themselves for a counter-attack should Genesis do something stupid. 

“Stand down.” Angeal ordered, also standing up only for a gauntlet-covered hand to yank on his collar.

“Where’s that son of a bitch, Angeal?” The scarlet-haired man hissed, his hold tightening minutely. “Where is  _ he _ ?”

The General looked down, pressing his lips into a thin line, unsure of what to say, what to do. Part of him wanted to comfort his friend because he had every right to deny Sephiroth’s death. He himself had grieved over the younger man’s demise. It was almost a decade of comradery, of being together through thick and thin. And in the redhead’s case, it’d been love, as short-lived as it had been. But there was also a part that wanted to hold the nape of Genesis’ neck, to make him look in his face as the younger man yelled at him, because the scarlet-haired soldier had no  _ right  _ to grieve over a man who had used him, used their love like  _ that _ , used their  _ friendship  _ like that only to throw it away. The very same man who had killed Zack less than twenty four hours ago.

Before he could decide between the warring sides of his personality though, he was released. The blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER walking away from him for a couple of steps before coming to an abrupt stop. The General could only see his profile, hidden behind a fringe of long red locks and then Genesis doubled over, slowly, a choked rush of breath leaving his childhood friend before he screamed a cry of sheer agony, staggering backwards as the metal-clad frame in front of Angeal’s eyes was wracked by a muted sob. The dark-haired soldier stood helpless, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to approach the redhead and startle him, but he didn’t want to let him walk away either. A few hours ago, the individual before him was only a memory, a ghost lost in the dregs of things as they once were. Abruptly, the image of the scarlet-haired ex-First as a child rose in his mind, sitting on the back of a pickup truck eating a dumbapple and reading Loveless. As the recollection seared into his frontal lobe he heard himself make a choked noise. Even as he did so, he acknowledged that he couldn’t walk away from this. He couldn’t be a coward. So he moved forward, taking the long and wide way ‘round the former First before he was standing before him. Even then, the redhead wouldn’t look at him, as if if he looked, he might disappear in a cloud of smoke. 

And again, Angeal went down on both his knees.

But this time, it wasn’t a gesture of confusion or despair or exhaustion. It was a supplication, an entreaty. He could sense the discomfort of the the men; their clear disapproval of seeing their General in such a subservient position. The former Commander dismissed it because it wasn’t important;  _ nothing  _ was so important as getting the redhead to understand what he was saying. Moreover, they weren’t safe here, they needed to go back to HQ. So he knelt, and then he bowed his head. 

“I’m not lying.” He said, and his voice was thick with despair. “I wish I was. I wish there had been any other option. Sephiroth razed Nibelheim to the ground, he killed every man, woman and child without a single thought. I don’t know-” Angeal faltered as despair threatened to swallow him. “-I don’t know what happened to him. I can’t pretend to understand what was going through his mind but…” He gritted his teeth, forced his anger and rage and hatred aside for the sake of the conversation. “Sephiroth was in _ pain _ Genesis. Mental pain. Gaia knows whether it was guilt or whether he simply snapped but he was a broken man. I think he was broken before you left,  _ weeks  _ before you left. I talked to him in the VR room and he said he was having homicidal thoughts...I tried to find you, to warn you but I was too late-” His voice broke on the word  _ ‘late.’  _ “I’m...sorry if his death is painful to you, but he...he wasn’t there anymore, and if he was, he was trapped in his mind. Death was a mercy.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Because he thoroughly believed that whoever Sephiroth had been was well and truly gone. The monster he had faced in Junon was not the man he had served under. The individual covered in the blood of innocent victims was as far from the real General as the stars were from the ground. No, Sephiroth was well and truly dead. Long dead...in a dark and mysterious past that was filled with torture and grief. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He shook his head.

“I’m not asking for you to forgive me, but I’m asking you to come with me. I won’t force you, no one here is going to force you. We-all of us-we’ve been forced enough.” 

A hand darted forward, twisting viciously in the long locks at the back of his head as he was forced to face a tear-stricken visage, to gaze into anguished blue eyes. There was the sound of men cocking their guns, and Angeal nearly panicked, reaching out with his left hand as he yelled at them to stand down.

“You’re still not _seeing_ anything ‘ngeal.” Genesis retorted. “ _I_ gave him that mental pain…” And the dark-haired First could see as the man before him crumbled, shards falling to reveal something jagged beneath that was awfully similar to the picture Vincent had painted for him earlier. “You say he’s a monster, so am _I_.” The redhead hissed, bringing their faces close, only inches apart. “ _I_ killed my parents, bathed in their blood. _I_ razed Deepground to the ground.” And the General was staring at a different person now, that much he could tell; cold, bitter, vengeful. “Are you going to _put me down_ like you did _him?_ ” A corner of that mouth was quirking downward in a mixture of a sneer and sadness. “He was _mine_ to kill. He was _mine_ , and you _took_ him from me...”

Releasing the savage hold in his hair, the scarlet-haired soldier straightened to his full height, walking a couple of steps away only to pivot quickly on his heel and point an accusatory finger in his face. “You’re lying through your teeth again, or you’re just as blind as you were before. I’m too much of a threat for your little utopia to let loose.” And azure eyes were flashing with anger, a head of red tilted to the side his men were staying with their guns ready. “Am I wrong?”

Angeal knew he was rationalizing it. 

Even as he remained as he was, unwilling to rise to the redhead’s temper, he was beginning to despair. Because no, he  _ couldn’t  _ let Genesis free. Not without killing every single individual there. Administration would eat him alive. He hung his head before a kind of steely resolve formed in his belly. And so what if they did? He’d deserve it. He’d allow it. If he had to face suspension or discharge because of his actions it would be justly earned. He’d chosen Shinra over his friends before, he wouldn’t do it again. Angeal refused to be the one to pass judgement again, to decide what happened for someone else. The men were distinctly unrestful, somewhat panicked in the face of what was before them. Resignedly, he knew he had to give an ultimatum; not only to show his loyalty to the tortured soul before him, but to the others around him. It was very unlikely he could get his former friend to come with him. He didn’t know what Deepground was, but from the looks of the former Commander, it was a horrible place. He’d risked life and limb to get out of it. As for the Rhapsodos family...that was less condonable, but he knew what kind of people the blue-eyed man’s parents were, knew what they had hidden from their son for so many years. He was rationalizing it…

...But he couldn’t help it. 

“You’ve been assumed dead.” He muttered numbly. “If Administration knew you were alive, they’d order me to take you in, yes.” He raised his head and looked squarely at Genesis. “But I’m not going to do that.” He cast his gaze to the men around him. “ _ None  _ of you are going to do that.” He emphasized, raising his voice. “I’ll die before I let any of you do that, and even if I do, you still have to contend with him. And if I have to go back to HQ at the end of this and face the consequences of not doing what I should have, then  _ so be it.  _ I won’t be that man again.”

There was a shuffle at the back of the grouping. The General watched wearily as the line of men parted to reveal his partner. Faintly, he heard the soft intake of breath ahead of him, and a part of him was wondering what was going through Genesis’ head, but he ignored it-for once-in favor of looking at the individual before him. Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he swept from the melee, dark leather, dark hair and crimson irises. Coming to stand by him, the gunslinger turned and surveyed the man, his expression dark.

“...You will also have to contend with  _ me. _ ”

The men were busy whispering with one another. It wasn’t an easy decision, and Angeal didn’t want to-not at the immediate moment at least-want to think if one of them decided to point a barrel of steel at either of the men standing beside him. He didn’t want to think about having to raise his blade against soldier who had followed him through war, then reform their imminent deaths and now this. Thankfully though, his pessimistic thoughts didn’t come to pass as one by one they decocked their guns, before popping off salutes, the highest ranking of them stepping forward. 

“Sir, permission to secure the perimeter?” 

Angeal nodded his head, watching as the cluster started dispersing across the park before turning to look at his partner and then at Genesis whose eyes were darting between the two of them, lingering more on Vincent, the ghost of an amused expression on his face laced with a vein of surprise. 

There was a mocking huff, those sanguine lips curling into a smirk as the scarlet-haired soldier uttered. “What do you want from me Angeal? I’m done fighting. I won’t be a part of whatever it is you’ve been  _ ‘creating’ _ .” Genesis’ tone which had been mocking before was now resigned, defeated as he continued. “I’m too broken to be useful to you, too broken to be your friend.” A grave pause. “Let me _ go... _ ”

At last, the dark-haired First found himself getting angry. Because as much as the redhead had gone through, he was still trying. 

“Zack is dead.” He said flatly. “I suppose that wouldn’t particularly matter to you, but it bears mentioning. Sephiroth is dead. They’re both dead because of me. You can talk about being _tired_ but I’m tired as well. I meant it when I said that I’m not going to force you to go anywhere, but you’re still my friend. And maybe you think you’re broken, but I’m broken as well. I’ve been _broken_ since I learned that I was lied to about my past, since I watched my best friend-as far as I was concerned-die in front of my eyes. Since the man I considered my son, who I trained to the best of my ability was killed in front of my eyes. Since the company I believed in turned out to be a corrupt persona, since the scientists that claimed to have our best interests in mind had only the worst. I don’t need you to be a soldier Genesis, that’s not what I’m asking you. If you leave, I can’t stop Shinra from hunting you down. And I know you’d kill every man that came your way but those men are still following orders, they’re still individuals with families, with children and loved ones who didn’t ask to be wrapped up in this. They don’t know anything else, just like you and I _didn’t know anything else._ If you do this, I can’t help you, I can’t repair what I’ve done wrong. I don’t want to lose someone else that I care about. _Please_ don’t do that. I don’t need you to be useful, I just need you to _live-_ ” He choked on his words and turned away, but a warm, familiar hand on his shoulder gave him pause. Looking upwards, he gazed despairingly at Vincent, who tilted his head before looking forward. 

“Sephiroth was my son.” He said calmly, and there were scattered whispers of shock. “I wasn’t there for him, and I regret it, deeply. I had a choice, and I didn’t take it. No one is asking you to stand and fight. No one is giving you that ultimatum. Both Angeal and I are not invested in bringing you back to make you serve anything. We’re just offering you someplace to stay, to recover.” He gestured at his wounds. “After that, you can decide where you want to go.” He blinked slowly, and Angeal hysterically wondered how he could be so calm facing the man his son had assaulted. The ex-Turk’s tone grew frigid, and he wondered-briefly-if perhaps he had misinterpreted the older man’s statement when it came to letting Genesis go. “You will eventually suffer from mako withdrawal, and the effects can be…unpleasant. If you survive it, your cognizance will suffer; and the populace does not have access to mako points that soldier does. You’ll still have to kill people, and when you do, you’ll still have to fill your body with the remains of those who have passed on.” Crimson eyes narrowed. “Possibly with the remains of the man who swore to give you love and then gave you despair. It’s only a matter of time before you lose what’s left of your mind. I think it’s safe to say that you value your ability to think. I was under Hojo’s… _‘benevolence’_ ” He spat it out like a curse. “Long before either of you, I know what it feels like to have your mind be the only safe place you have left. I don’t think you want to lose that.”

Genesis was watching, or rather glaring at Vincent by the time the ex-Turk was finished, the sneer that seemed ever-present on the older man’s face was venomous before those burning blue eyes turned to look at him. “You just need me to  _ live…  _ even if it has to be behind the bars of a gilded cage, even if it has to be a  **_wretched_ ** _ existence, is that it _ ?” A metal gauntlet clutched his collar yet again as the scarlet-haired man continued. “I will go with you now, but  _ mark my words _ . I will leave Angeal. I  _ will leave  _ and if you send after me, I  _ will  _ kill your men,  _ without  _ mercy. Every. Single. One.”

Shoving him away, the former First started walking toward the chopper only to come to a halt in front of Vincent, a look of pure disdain scrunching up his visage. “ _ Where were you? _ ” Genesis spat, and with that he strode away, not sparing a single glance at them until his metal-clad figure disappeared inside the helicopter.

The former Commander could now think about the distance the gunslinger had put between them earlier; being there but not there physically, and he didn’t know how to interpret it. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions; didn’t want to think that maybe what he had said back in that room when Vincent had probably been worried beyond belief for his life had been the cause for a rift between them. And only just after the onyx-haired Turk had confessed his love to him. For a moment, Angeal couldn’t help but think that maybe, after all, he was undeserving for such a level of affection. Looking at the crimson-caped man didn’t provide him any answers, but the General couldn’t help feeling guilty because of what his childhood friend-or what remained of him-had uttered. It was painfully reminiscent of what the silver-haired soldier had asked of his father back in Sephiroth’s old apartment. 

“I’m sorry.” The General uttered, looking down defeatedly. “Because of my words at the infirmary, and because of what Genesis said.” Not letting the older man answer, he quickly followed with another statement. “And thank you, for reasoning with him.” He paused for a miniscule moment. “For saving me, for everything.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and I didn’t reason with him.” Vincent said flatly, his face empty of emotion...his eyes deep wells of despair. “I just didn’t give him any other choice.”

Swallowing, Angeal looked away. He was right, they hadn’t. And once Administration got their hands on this, he was going to have to fight tooth and nail to do what he needed to do. Genesis needed to be safe...for now. Until Sephiroth-what  _ remained  _ of Sephiroth-was dealt with. There was no other option. Once the silver-haired ex-soldier was well and truly confined, he would be happy to let his redheaded friend slip out the back door unnoticed. By his calculation, they had maybe a month before their reasoning regarding mako withdrawal ran dry. That was fine. He didn’t keep prisoners. As far as he was concerned, Genesis was merely under protective custody.  _ Unwilling  _ protective custody but custody nonetheless. Clearing his throat, he looked at his men. 

“Let’s move out.” He said flatly, rising as he did so. “You know the drill.” 

There was a flurry of abrupt movement. Most of the men began walking back towards the chopper. While watching them embark, he almost expected to see the entire thing go up in flames, it wouldn’t have surprised him. When it didn’t, the hollow ache that filled him made him want to collapse on the spot. Only Vincent’s arm around his shoulders kept him from doing so. He let it fall when they grew close to the massive bird, entering to sweep past the jumbled population of men who were looking unusually solemn and silent. Walking among them, he spared only the barest of nods before entering a secluded section-reserved for higher-ranking officers-between the hold and the cockpit. Genesis was already there, and he shot them a look filled with vitriol. Ignoring it, Angeal spoke briefly with the pilot as the ebon-haired gunslinger sank into a seat. When he returned, the younger man took the one next to him wordlessly. With a glance at the hate-filled sapphire eyes across from him, he turned instead to understanding, familiar crimson ones. And he simply didn’t care anymore...so when he let his head rest on Vincent’s shoulder and a gold-plated hand grasped his knee briefly before letting go, he put it to rest. They had a month...that was enough.

At least at the end of it all...two of what had once been three would still be alive. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Genesis heaved into the porcelain bowl, glowing green sluicing over his bottom lip, warm and horrible enough to make him retch yet again. Angeal was sitting on the edge of the bathtub behind him, holding his hair back quite literally; because when those big strong palms had touched his shoulders, the scarlet-haired man had nearly chopped them off, glaring at the soldier murderously with unusually bright blue eyes. 

He had overdosed with the mako shots the dark-haired First had been smuggling for him for the past couple of days. Because he’d been restless, because he had effectively and willingly walked himself into Angeal’s living quarters only for the younger man to not let him set his foot outside, not even for a split second. It was custody. And everyone had already seen him on their way to the ‘General’s apartment, so Genesis just couldn’t figure out why the Banoran was so  _ fucking  _ afraid to let him out. It set his teeth on edge, it made him want to murder someone, but he couldn’t.

On their way back to HQ, he’d had yet another revelation that had made him want to go back to the hold and throw himself out of the chopper door. Angeal was with this Vincent fellow; what their relationship was, the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER didn’t know; and half-heartedly, he didn’t care. Or at least G didn’t. There had been a twinge stabbing in his chest as his blue irises had observed that foreign pale face that was torturously familiar; that angular jaw, pale lips and severe jet-black eyebrows. Sephiroth’s visage had flashed numerous times in front of his eyes until he’d been forced to look away, gritting his teeth to push back that burning sensation in his eyes. 

Because he couldn’t, just couldn’t  _ believe  _ it. He couldn’t believe that the silver-haired man was dead. The green-eyed soldier who was so full of a zeal for living, for surviving through impossible situations, the only person Genesis had come to believe to have a will so tenacious it could possibly move mountains, the man who had declared he’d loved him, who had laid claim to his heart and his body with and against his will, that brilliant individual that had accepted every facet of his broken personality, who had bestowed him with a vision of heaven on Gaia only to snatch it away, to dash it to pieces, to set fire to it and plunge both of them to hell was dead. Literal hell, because that was what it was now, that was what remained of them. 

And Angeal had  _ killed  _ him, had put him down like an  _ animal _ , because the dark-haired First had thought him a monster, something  _ inferior _ . And the thought was enough to make his lips curl; for so long he’d been looked down as such, only to have it proven that he’d been indeed inferior. If Sephiroth had made himself into a monster, so had he...there was no denying the deeds he had done. He wasn’t running away, he was accepting responsibility for it with open arms. It reminded him of those he had had to kill in Deepground. If he had been a sentimental person, he might have called them his brethren… People who had also been deemed inferior, who had been forced into servitude and bloodshed, monsters that lurked beneath the darkness of the cold earth...and he had been among them, one of them, just as he had been once a SOLDIER. 

It brought forth a multitude of feelings G couldn’t name, the most prominent of them anger… A rage that simmered just beneath his skin, a fury that had no outlet; because the very same dark-haired First who claimed to have his best interests in mind, had bereft him of his only chance at taking revenge. Now G had fought all those men in Deepground for nothing, he had dragged himself through all that to know why, to know what he had done for them to be deserving of such a fate, only to figure out that the only man who could answer his questions had perished by the hands of his childhood  _ friend _ . 

The moment they had set foot inside Angeal’s apartment, Genesis had gone straight for the man’s liquor cabinet, grabbed as many bottles as he could while the dark-haired  _ General  _ and this Vincent guy who claimed himself to be Sephiroth’s  _ father _ had sequestered themselves to the bedroom. He hadn’t cared enough to listen, deciding to wallow in his own thoughts and drown himself in alcohol, which hadn’t been the right course of action considering how his tolerance for drinking had lowered. On second thought, maybe it had also been because he’d been running low on mako too.

The duo had hurriedly left the apartment, muttering something about a meeting explaining his existence to the board, and that he should stay here, but again Genesis hadn’t cared enough to answer, instead taking a swig straight from his second bottle of whatever. He had already been inebriated enough not to give a flying fuck about the fact that he’d been  _ ordered around _ , that retaliating hadn’t even occurred to his mind. By the time they had returned, it’d been dark and the former First had been barely coherent and cognizant; his armor pieces laying haphazardly across the room, while he’d leaned against the wall in a corner of the living room he had chosen with his legs were drawn up against his chest.

Both Angeal and Vincent-well mostly Angeal-had tried taking him to the bedroom, but the endeavor had come abruptly to an end when G had found their sword from the wall of the very same room he’d been half-dragged, half-carried to. Genesis knew that they could’ve disarmed him if they’d wanted to, but they hadn’t, and the redhead hadn’t cared as long as they left him alone.

He had woken up yesterday morning to a pair of crimson irises observing him from underneath onyx lashes, feeling seriously worse for wear. A glance at the clock had showed him that actually it was late in the afternoon and not morning at all, and the former First had decided through the oppressive haze of his massive headache that he’d had enough of staying at the younger man’s apartment only to have his every attempt at approaching the door rebuffed. He had reached for Rapier only to find himself shoved into the bathroom of the absent blue-eyed individual’s quarters moments after.

He had been crawling and scrabbling his way outside when the lukewarm spray had hit him, and it’d been like being sat on by a Behemoth. G had deflated instantly, because all he had known for so long had been excruciating mako showers and being submerged into the glowing emerald for hours until all he could hear was the swirl of the thick liquid, and all he could see and breathe was green. To have something touch his skin that wasn’t a blade, a scalpel, a bullet, or any other thing intended to inflict pain was such a drastic change that he had frozen on the spot; gone with the motions as the crimson-caped man had helped him stand in the tub and under the shower, telling him that he needed to at least look like he hadn’t just left a war zone before he could go out. 

That had turned out to be yet another empty promise.

Genesis didn’t know how long he had stayed under the shower; had watched the droplets crawl down tiled walls and traced them with his fingertips. He had barely been cognizant of the fact that at some point his vision had been blurring badly until he’d ended up stripping down in the most furious manner and throwing the pieces of fabric at the door, before slumping against the wall. He had stayed there until Angeal’s persistent knocking finally ended up with the younger man barging in on him with a panicked expression. And G had laughed at him, laughed at him and mocked him, but the raven-haired First had taken it all in stride, had born his words with an awfully patient silence, given him a towel and garments that were a size too big for him, but ridiculously comfortable.

And he hadn’t been able to stop his brain from recovering yet another memory of him staying over at Sephiroth’s for two subsequent days, and ending up having to wear the younger man’s shirt that wasn’t as loose as Angeal’s was, but definitely longer than the ones the redhead used to have. He’d commented that it was more of a tunic than a shirt back then, worn it bottomless and that had earned him a playful smack on the butt which had turned into a grab, and then subsequently into full-fledged lovemaking in the silver-haired man’s kitchen.

_ Lovemaking. _

With nothing, not even bile to throw up, Genesis pressed the flush button for the umpteenth time before wiping his mouth with the back of his palm; completely disregarding the towel offered to him by the sable-haired First, opting instead to turn his head toward the worried visage and glare into those blue eyes that were watching him with the same amount of  _ love _ as always. But the older man had had enough of love, enough of this ridiculously hollow notion that meant nothing but enslavement, of  _ justifiable _ possessiveness because you could.

“Do you have the bracelet?”

Angeal just blinked at him for a couple of moments, before muttering a resigned and weary ‘No.’ and leaving the bathroom, his hand wringing the towel he’d offered to him only moments ago as he did.

Vincent was outside, as always. The redhead knew that with his eyes closed. Sephiroth’s  _ sire  _ had this unshakable presence that was like a beacon of energy against his consciousness, too strong to ignore. And he was so sick of having the crimson-eyed man babysit him, to have him act as a watchdog. Sicker he was of the words Angeal had uttered to him in the park; that he just needed him to  _ live _ . To live this meaningless existence. He was sick enough to vomit if there was anything left in his system but his own bile.

Spitting in the sink and washing his mouth, G ran a wet hand across their face, and again through his long hair as he pushed them away and out of his eyes. Straightening to his full height and finding his reflection staring back at him, he punched the mirror, feeling the dark ominous waves of anger surge up inside him like that of a stormy sea. He’d drown in it, but he’d also drown everyone else.

“I want OUT!” Genesis yelled as he strode out to the living room. “I didn’t get out of Deepground to be confined like this! I didn’t agree to being babysat! To being in your custody! Let me out or I will carve my way out of your walls!” He spat angrily, Rapier in his hand in a flash of red within the expanse of a split second.

Angeal emerged from the kitchen with his hands raised, a placating expression on his face. And he was  _ sick  _ of that expression, of that embodiment of supplicatory neutrality. Standing before him, the dark-haired First kept his palms upward, kept his expression unreadable.

“I won’t fight you.” was the steady response, and Genesis wanted to  _ break  _ that temperance. Fed up, the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER swung only to have the newly-instated General dodge. Vincent had risen from the couch, his eyes flickering between them as he gauged the situation in a detached but alert manner that reminded him of someone to the point where it was painful. “Genesis-” another swing and a lamp crashed to the floor, the wielder of the Buster Sword forced to roll. “You can’t even get off the mako.” was the entreaty, and it enraged him further...not because it was insulting...but because it was  _ true.  _ “How do you expect to survive out there when you’re dependent on something that drags you down?!” The next jab landed a hit. Specifically, it landed a hit on Angeal’s bad shoulder. The suppressed cry of pain was like music to his ears and he prowled forward as his former friend slumped against a table at the back of a couch. “I’m just trying to  _ help  _ you-!”

Help.

_ Help.  _ Nobody had helped him in Deepground, he’d done that himself. He’d fought his way to the top, out for revenge and then that revenge was robbed of him. The man in front of him was ignorant to his vices; to the petty whims that drove him forward only to push him back until he fell. He had no time for cowards, for those who refused to see their own flaws and then pushed them on others in the name of righteousness, of  _ honor.  _ Distantly, the redhead was aware that Sephiroth’s father had reached for his gun, that he was poised on the edge of a decision. A part of him  _ wanted  _ him to do it, to pull the trigger and put him out of this fucking agony. Because he was  _ purposeless  _ here, above ground. He thought of Rosso, of all the people he had killed just to get there and he saw red. Because now those were needless deaths save for the regime they stood for. Angeal didn’t flinch when he threw Rapier wide, when he adopted a habitual fighting stance and the blade swept over his shoulder only to bring it back-two handed-in a swift jabbing downward motion. No, he was despairing, lifeless and  _ pathetic as always  _ as he lunged forward, determined to show him what a  _ monster  _ really was-

-He was slammed against the wall.

The plaster cracked as lights skyrocketed into his corneas. The supports holding the apartment to the rest of the building seemed to groan...the electricity flickered. The only thing his brain could register for at least sixty seconds was  _ pain.  _ And he was used to pain, but this was different, this was strength on a level he hadn’t encountered in Deepground. When his vision cleared he was face to face with Vincent...but it wasn’t Vincent…not exactly. His features were blurring, slurring between something human and something monstrous like a ping-pong ball dancing back and forth across the table. Those crimson eyes  _ glowed  _ as if imbued with the flame of a dying fire. A snarl...deep, primordial and powerful spilled from lips that were a little too much like his son’s for Genesis’ liking, and the vibration of it was a tornado rolling up his spine. He acknowledged that the hands holding him up by his collar were sprouting sharp claws that dug into his throat before retreating inwards again...growing pale-pink and round before repeating the gesture until the gunslinger seemed to shudder, until he growled in a voice that was slightly more human; and then he drew the redhead back only to shove him forward again. 

**_“We won’t let you hurt him.”_ **

Dual-toned, low and lower still...like the voice of a beast if beasts could talk. Angeal made a protestant noise, dragged himself up in order to step forward. And Genesis ignored the slither of cold, icy fear that coiled in his belly, because he  _ couldn’t  _ acknowledge it. Still, even as he gave a brief, bitter accedence to the fact that the...person?...restraining him was equally-if not more-strong, the mirth that rose up to greet it was unstoppable, tinged with hysteria and madness. Because of  _ course  _ Angeal would choose someone broken and monstrous, just as he had. He didn’t know anything else. Staring into those glowing, scarlet eyes, the redhead felt a grin spread across his face and he couldn’t stop it. Because when Valentine snapped,  _ oh Gaia,  _ it was going to be  _ beautiful.  _ Before he knew it, he was laughing...loudly, mockingly, his head thrown back...shaking with it until tears streamed down his face because of  _ course.  _ The hands at his collar retreated and Vincent stepped away, seemingly in control of himself again. The former Commander slid down the wall in a heap and simply sat there, doubled over with mirth as two sets of eyes looked on; one set in a face that was unreadable, and one in a visage of exhaustion and sadness. 

And he just couldn’t seem to stop the noise escaping his lips until the muscles in his abdomen were contracting painfully with every peal of laughter. 

Because this was a very  _ very _ ridiculous situation for so many different reasons.

One, because Angeal was fucking the father of the man he had killed and they were both okay with it. Like nothing had fucking happened. 

Two, Valentine was a fucking monster, and he was a strong one at that. That made G want to challenge him, to try and see how much more he had to hurt Angeal to get a reaction out of that beast; how much further until he would lash out with those claws and Genesis would fight him. And it was going to be  _ beautiful _ . 

His laughter had stopped at one point and he was blankly staring at the faces watching him, eyes unfocused.

Three, the same man looking at him with a mixture of weariness and grief had been trying to placate him, give him everything he wanted, folding and folding and the Angeal he knew wasn’t that way. The Angeal he knew wouldn’t do the very same thing the Rhapsodoses had done; and for what, to drag out this miserable existence. The Angeal he knew was  _ dead _ … just like Sephiroth… 

Drawing his knees up to his chest had come subconsciously, his eyes darted to the far wall to his right as he tried blinking back the tears, a trembling left hand rose to push his hair out of his forehead as he exhaled shakily.

That only left him. Not that he was fully alive himself. He was broken, bleeding, a tangle of mangled limbs, a crawling mess moving forward just because it had been beaten into his head in Deepground, as mindless as that was and as pointless, hollow, and shallow; but he felt like he should, that he needed to survive, to be a testimony that they’d all existed once, that they were happy once, they were all alive once, and together.

His lips trembled, his face feeling hot as he still resisted.

Four, he had no choice. It was either Angeal’s apartment, or the solitary confinement the Administration had probably reserved under his name. He didn’t know if this Vincent guy had a house, but it was either that or the highway. G didn’t know if he could survive living in a sixty five square feet room again, surrounded by impenetrable walls of concrete and steel. Genesis didn’t know if he had the strength to keep bending a tine of some fork so he could keep tally marks to keep himself sane, to reassure himself of the passage of time, that he wasn’t stuck in some limbo, a never-ending loop, or stagnating at one point in time.

Pressing his forehead to his knees, he crumbled yet again, his hands clutching Angeal’s shirt over his heart.

If only Valentine had put that bullet in him.

There was the shuffle of fabric, and he tensed...but just as quickly there was the rustle of leather and the swish of cloth. Forcing his anguish, his anger, and his panic down, the red-headed man surreptitiously looked up through the gap in his knees to see that Angeal had rushed forward, possibly to embrace him- _ idiot- _ before being stopped in his tracks by Vincent. A large, pale palm was pressed at the center of his former friend’s chest, and they were looking silently at each other...as if communicating with their eyes. He couldn’t see the face of the eldest, but the newly-instated General’s visage was a mask of pain. Slowly, the gunslinger shook his head, ebon hair swaying down his back as he did so.

“ _ Don’t. _ ”

Low, urgent; the crimson-eyed man’s voice was laced with an undertone of panic. Derisively, the former Commander found himself agreeing with the older man. Because it would be _incredibly stupid_ to try and comfort him. He didn’t want a betrayer comforting him, he didn’t want Angeal anywhere _near_ him. Lowering his head again, Genesis didn’t wait to see the culmination of their impasse; he didn’t care. Truthfully, he wished they’d just disappear so he could finally have some peace. Away from people who wanted to tell him what he needed, or tell him how they felt. He’d made how he himself felt perfectly clear and nobody was listening to him; he wouldn’t do them the kindness of giving what he hadn’t gotten. 

“I have an offer for you to consider.” 

An offer. They sold their captivity so easily. Put it on a platter before him as if it was merely a gift...a tithe to whatever ignorance they stood behind. Acknowledging that it was Vincent’s voice, the scarlet-haired ex-First felt his lip curl up into a sneer. The absent father wanted to make an offer...how fitting. Viciously, he wondered if he’d  _ offered  _ Sephiroth such a choice before he left...before he abandoned his son to what made him into the memory he was in his mind. Because ultimately there was nothing about this that was a choice; he was an confined here as he’d been in Deepground. 

“You could stay in my apartment.” Angeal made a noise of protest that was quickly cut off. “It’s not large, but I’m not...benevolent like Angeal, I don’t know you. I regret your circumstances but your livelihood-ultimately-means very little to me save for what you mean to the General. I think you’ll find that I make much less of an effort-”

“ _ -Vincent! _ ”

“-No.” was the deadpan reply. “You’re giving him too much of a window; you know it, I know it. He doesn’t want that window, and we both know what the only other option is. If you go to sleep here he’s going to cut your throat without thinking about it. And even if you say he wouldn’t, I’m not willing to risk that. You’re too valuable to your men; to the company and what it’s trying to do.” There was silence, and Genesis sensed the focus was back on him. “I’m leaving in five minutes. Take some time to...regather yourself, and if you’re not at the door when you decide we can consider...other venues of focus. But either way, I’m not leaving you here with him.”

“I don’t need any regathering.” Genesis said flatly, still not raising his head to face them as he forced himself to his feet. “And I don’t need you  _ offering _ me anything. I made a mistake of accepting to go with you, knowingly walking myself into your custody.”

“You’re All the same!” The scarlet-haired ex-First snapped. “Deepground, SOLDIER, Shinra. No amount of reform is going to change the way things are done. You’re a fool to believe that, as blind as always, even worse.” His eyes were boring holes into Angeal’s visage that was wrinkled with lines of anguish, the younger First not looking at him, opting to stare at some point on the carpet. His childhood friend was a lost cause; he’d been a lost cause since that day Genesis had found himself slashing his forearms in the bathroom of his office. Cerulean pools turned to the crimson-caped man who was observing him with a fire in his irises that promised of murder; the beast still there, somewhere beneath the surface. “You’re more of a fool than he is, but I suppose birds of a feather flock together.”

Bending down to retrieve Rapier from where he had left it on the ground, he was silent for a moment. And it was odd. Pausing mid-gesture, his brows furrowed as he tried to think why he found that infinitesimal moment of neutral tranquility so bizarre.

It came as somewhat of a surprise that it had been the first time in a long time his mind was quiet doing simply nothing; not killing, not thinking about various scenarios and strategizing, nothing at all. It was a modicum of peace in the tumultuous sea of turmoil he’d been drowning in for as long as G could remember. He wanted to hold onto it, to relish and savor it, but soon the moment was gone, Genesis taking over; bitter, harsh.

“If you have my old clothes I don’t think I’d need that armor. Use it to make your stupid SOLDIER even more perfect. Turn them into perfect monsters for the time they’d need to face me. You’ll need it.” Vitriol was seeping into his every word, and honestly he couldn’t bring himself to care that it was Angeal he was talking to. In his eye, they were all dead. They had been when Shinra decided to turn experiments out of them. Stillborn. That’s what they had been. Living on borrowed time. Their lives not being their own.

But now, there was no Shinra to bring to ruin. And no Sephiroth to kill or have him kill him.

Because for a long time, he had thought that they’d probably be the end of each other.

And maybe they had been.

Genesis didn’t know what to do with this. Didn’t know how to tame the vicious vengeful feeling gnashing his insides, how to let it out. Wondered if he did, maybe it would probably be his last breath.

Moving toward the door, silence settled over the room, except for the flutter of the fabrics covering him and the clink of Vincent’s golden sabatons against the floor. But not for long.

“I’m not taking back the words I told you back at the park. I’m not regretting anything I said and did, because I-...” Angeal was cut off by his partner, and Genesis just wanted to get the hell out of here.

“ _ -Angeal. _ ”

“-No, I need to get this out. What I’ve been doing, from the moment I realized you were alive has been an effort to maintain your livelihood, your  _ freedom _ , which I know you desire. From the meetings I’ve been having to sit through to convince the Administration that you’re not a threat, to going against my own values to get you mako so you don’t have to go through any more pain.” There was a sigh, weary, resigned.  _ Sickening. _ “We’ve all been broken, but I  _ know _ you still see me, the real me beneath all this. And I’ve been trying,  _ really _ trying to get around all these booby traps and past these barbwires you’ve drawn around yourself that’s hurting both you and those who get near you. Maybe you’re right, maybe you have every right to do so after all that’s happened, and I only know so much of it. But-...”

“Spare me your kind words and love, Angeal.” Genesis held out a hand to the man behind him, not at all turning to look over his shoulder and see the expression on the ‘General’’s face. “Your love is wasted on  _ monsters  _ such as me.” Turning to look at the red-eyed man beside him, he continued, impatient. “Shall we go  _ now  _ or you want to stay and kiss him better?”

A black brow winged upwards. 

“That’s not going to work on me.” Vincent said flatly. “Though it was a good tactical try.” He turned to Angeal as the redhead fumed. “I’m sorry.” was the added anecdote in a slightly gentler tone. Slowly the blue-eyed First nodded, his face miles away. The gunslinger was indifferent in his mannerism as he went to the bedroom, leaving the door open as a precautionary measure. It was exactly five minutes before he returned, and Genesis made the angry,  _ extremely furious  _ mental note that Valentine was just as prone to being situationally stubborn as the man he’d once known- _ no- _ he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t draw comparisons. Sephiroth was gone. The fact that the man coming back from the hallway with a bag slung over his shoulder had some of his mannerisms and too many of his features was irrelevant. “Shall we?” He said mildly, then paused and appeared to consider. “Nevermind. Let’s go.” 

Genesis saw red.

It took everything he had not to swing Rapier at the back of that ugly, headbanded head as the older man opened the door to the apartment and held it just-so, raising his eyebrows yet again. Mentally gnashing his teeth, the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER forced his expression into impassivity as he walked out into the hall. He was-briefly-accosted with the frantic urge to run. It was habitual, borne from days upon days of having to look over his shoulder whenever he was in an open, public space. The hallway was empty, however, and the hollow feeling that came with this realization was jarring. His self-appointed ward drew level with him upon closing the door and they walked together to the elevator. Weirdly, the man beside him didn’t seem to live in Residential. Instead, the younger man recognized the area they stepped out of the lift into as the Third-Class living quarters. There were groups of men hanging about, and while they gave them wide berth, the hollow emptiness in their eyes was confusing. Because from what he could recall, most of SOLDIER was oblivious to the corruption of their station.

Vincent’s phone started to ring. 

Maintaining an idle stance and keeping a narrowed eye on the weary but wary gazes around them, Genesis tilted his head to listen in. Upon flipping the cellular device open, it became immediately apparent that the caller was Angeal. His tone was distressed,  _ angry.  _ Instantly, the his former comrade launched into an upset tirade about how the ex-Turk had spoken to his ‘friend’. The blue-eyed man suppressed a sneer with difficulty, because it was  _ pathetic.  _ Before he got a chance to hear the older man’s reply, his ears picked up on a conversation in one of the adjacent hallways. Slowing his step, the redhead was quietly relieved when his ever-watchful shadow stopped entirely, his voice low and urgent. Ignoring it, the former Commander strained to listen in.

_ “-Junon. I can’t believe they’re gone.” _

A group of Thirds, or so it seemed. Muttering and whispering to each other in what he assumed was an apartment. Sapphire irises dropped into slits as he leaned towards the conversation slightly. ...What had happened in Junon?

_ “I’m sorry Saed, I know your family lived there. But, you can’t go back man. From what the reports say, the entire city is a graveyard.” _

There was an audible, shaky inhale. 

_ “Yeah, I know. But they were still the only family I had. Fucking Sephiroth...talk about ‘a long way to fall.’ I’d kill him myself if I thought I could last more than ten seconds.” _

Ice was being pumped in his veins.

_ “You think you could last more than ten seconds?”  _ There was a snort.  _ “Commander-...” _

_ “General.”  _ Someone corrected.

_ “Yeah, yeah, whatever. General Hewley was beaten to a pulp when they brought him in. Man, I don’t want to think what would happen if Sephiroth attacked Midgar. Junon-...” _

Genesis wasn’t listening anymore. He wasn’t even bothering to school his features into neutrality, to hide the shock that was slowly, very slowly morphing into something else.

Sephiroth was alive?

Sephiroth was alive and he’d made a graveyard of Junon?! 

And that was why Angeal had been wearing that ridiculous sling around his arm. 

Anger.

All-consuming rage.

Because,  _ Fucking Angeal had  _ **_lied_ ** _ to him. _

Before his ward could even turn to look at him, Genesis was gone in a blur. Taking the stairs three and four steps in one, and almost leaping over the flights until he reached the Residential. He really didn’t care that Vincent or the hideous monster was on his tail or not. 

He was going to kill Angeal.

One moment the door of the younger First’s apartment came into his view and the next it was exploding inside the apartment he’d been imprisoned in for the past couple of days, in a shower of burning slabs of wood and splinters. 

Hurling Rapier aside, he didn’t give recess to the dark-haired man who had just turned to face him with astonishment, the phone he’d called Valentine with still in his hand when G’s punch collided against a stubbled face. 

“ _ LIAR! _ ” Genesis screamed, following the dazed man to the ground and yanking on the collar of his uniform before slamming a head of onyx locks to the floor once, twice before Angeal’s left hand gripped the side of his neck to push and slam him to the ground at his side.

The redhead snarled, kicking the blue-eyed First in the abdomen as he tried to restrain him, probably in another pathetic attempt at civil conversation. Rising up from the ground, his right arm engulfed in a wavering halo of orange, he was about to approach the man who’d been spewing  **_lies_ ** since he’d reached the surface when he sensed it. Quickly changing priorities, he let the Firaga at Angeal’s crimson-eyed partner, switching the magic to his other hand as he didn’t let him get any nearer.

By the time he was done scorching holes through the wall of the dark-haired soldier’s living room, the ex-First was pressing a leg against his childhood friend’s trachea, enough for him to have difficulty breathing but not enough to choke him; and Rapier was dangling from his right hand, dangerously close to the younger man’s heart.

Genesis tilted his head to the left, his features a mask of proud frigid detachment as he observed Vincent who was leveling his gun at him with frozen azure irises.

“Go on, shoot.” The former SOLDIER dared, widened his eyes murderously.

“ _ Gen-sis. _ ” The blue-eyed ‘General’ pleaded somewhat, only to have G push his foot harder down minutely.

“You’re not going to kill him.”

The comment was absurd. For a moment, the redhead faltered, but because did the dark-haired man _see_ what he was doing?! He had his _foot_ on Angeal’s _throat,_ and Vincent was standing there like a fucking ice statue. There wasn’t a single hair on his head singed and if you hadn’t been watching him for the last few minutes you’d have never known he was in the middle of a firefight. A booted foot stepped forward and the former Commander snarled and pressed harder. The gunslinger stopped and tilted his head like a bird of prey. Those gold-plated hands flexed slightly before dropping to the side once more. The steady hand holding the gun disengaged and he watched with a kind of stupidious incredulity as the weapon was holstered. It was official, this man was nuts. Did he even _love_ Angeal?! Did he care about him at all?! The minute the thought surfaced, he was disgusted with himself. Because he didn’t-shouldn’t-care. He didn’t care. 

“You’re not going to kill him.” was the repeated statement. “Because if you do, you’re no better than Sephiroth.” Icy indignance flooded through his veins, because how _dare_ he?! But Vincent kept going. “Slaughtering friends...foes...it didn’t particularly matter to him you know, just like it doesn’t seem to particularly matter to you. And you can have your pain….I’m not dismissing it, but you’re doing exactly what he did to everyone else. To _you._ ” Those crimson eyes blinked sleepily. “I wonder, are you so afraid of your pain that you have to kill everyone who ever loved you just to prove you don’t feel it? What will you do when that pain is all you have left? When this world is empty, _hollow,_ and cold and devoid of everything you place your troubles on...what will you do? Will you be satisfied when the exterior of your existence fits your interior perception? When the ground before you is a mirror to your mind...will you be able to embrace it? There is a distinct difference between peace and emptiness.” A black-gloved hand was waved idly. “You may be captive here, for your own safety. But you’re also a captive to yourself; you’re a _slave_ to your pain. As much as you were a slave to Shinra, to whatever came after. To whatever’s inside of you that’s telling you that this is the only way.” Vincent shook his head, and for the first time, he looked genuinely sad. “I pity you.”

“Finished with your tirade, are you?” G replied coolly, his expression completely unfazed. Inside him, Genesis was seething with anger, with rage, and rightfully so. Because how  _ dare _ Vincent talk about him like he knew anything? How  _ dare _ he talk about his pain when it had been the only thing he had felt for the eternity before he’d been able to set foot on the ground again, to breathe the noxious air of the heart of Shinra’s empire, to see the sky again? How  _ dare _ he talk about him and Sephiroth as though he knew anything of their relationship? 

The urge to let his face scrunch up in an ugly sneer was almost too difficult to ignore. But he overcome it in favor for lowering his blade, his sapphire irises never leaving red as he gauged the older man’s reactions. “Who said I wanted to be better than Sephiroth, maybe I wanted to be simply  _ worse _ ?” There was the soft tear of fabric, the slight resistance of skin, and then copper hit his senses; euphoric, heady, the easy part of flesh and the pained noise bubbling up his childhood friend’s throat only to be strangled at the redhead’s boot. How he’d missed  _ this _ . The man standing in front of him was just as stoic as he’d been, his face an unfaltering mask of indifference. It made his blood boil, but he didn’t let it get through to the surface. His time in Deepground had taught him a few things. “I don’t need your pity, but I guess if you’re so adamant to pour it down my throat like the lies you’ve been feeding me, so be it. I will take it, I will take everything you have until you’ve got nothing to give.” He paused, bringing up his blade to point it at the dark-haired marksman. “This fight has nothing to do with you. I don’t think confining me to your apartments would work now that I know Sephiroth’s alive.” 

A head of auburn tresses tilted to the other side as cerulean irises darted down to the man at his feet and back up. Slowly, he raised his foot from Angeal’s throat. “I don’t need your protection. I told you I’d leave, and I will. Now. Send after me and I’d make a bloodbath of Shinra’s halls trying to fight my way out.” His eyes widened minutely as he returned his focus to the dark-haired soldier’s partner. “You’d better go and hold them at bay if you’ve learned your lesson from the state I’ve left Deepground in.” A malevolent smirk marred his pale features. “You don’t want me to make a bonfire of your little utopia for Sephiroth to come join the party.”

Vincent looked distinctly bored. 

“Funny you should say that, because everything you're saying points to the fact that you're assuming I want Sephiroth dead. I don't. And I never did. And to be perfectly frank, if you did get far enough that you might be able to kill him, I'd protect him as well, regardless of what he's done. This is what you continue to miss while you're busy assuming the intentions of those around you. Just because my son has done terrible things doesn't mean I've stopped loving him. And I'm not going to give up on him, his mother wouldn't have wanted me to. And just because you've done terrible things it doesn't mean Angeal has stopped loving you. He's not going to give up on you. That's why he wants you here and not out there, because Sephiroth could kill you. The only reason I didn't shoot you was because of him, because your death would destroy him.” He sighed. “But you're focused on the base layer of it...the shallow layer. You're smarter than that, you wouldn't have gotten to First if you weren't. But I cannot convince you that an enemy doesn't exist here if it exists in your mind. I won't fight phantoms.”

Those crimson irises cut away, widened minutely, and it took Genesis a moment to realize where they were looking. It was one moment too long. A hand shot out to grasp his foot, a hand attached to an arm in a sling and there was the distinctive grind of bone as it yanked unforgivingly and sent him falling. At the same time the individual in front of him lunged, pivoted in a familiar manner and a foot connected to the hand that held Rapier, heel hitting dead-center in the reflexive release joint and his fingers refused to obey; his blade went soaring as the foot was followed by a body with considerable strength. Another hand hooked his right leg, snatched the arm that rose to viciously strike out and twisted it until he was forced to turn around to avoid breaking bones. He went down to the floor and Vincent was instantaneously above him with a knee at the center of his back, one hand cupped under his chin to keep him from breaking his nose. Another body was sitting on his legs-Angeal more than likely-probably because he wasn't able to properly use his hands. When it was determined that he wasn't going to get a concussion, the gloved palm gently but inexorably tilted his head to the side so he could breathe.

“Well,” Vincent said blithely, and did he have to sound  _ cheerful?  _ “That was enlightening.”

“Speak for yourself.” Angeal rasped. 

“Are you alright?” The tone of that velvety voice was sickeningly affectionate. 

A moment of silence. 

“I...in terms of all this, no. Physically, I've had worse. Though, if you're going to put on that kind of  _ act _ again please warn me first. You could have killed me. And you shouldn't use Turk tactics like that, it's crazy. I'm too old for this.”

A chuckle.

“I'll ask you again.” The gunslinger continued. “Are you going to come back to my apartment? Or are you going to go to solitary?”

Genesis struggled in his restraints for a moment, testing their strength and found them rather ungiving. Also, he wouldn’t be Genesis if he didn’t retaliate, Angeal would see through that within a split second. Vincent had been right. He had to be smart about this.

Valentine was planning on saving Sephiroth, somehow and maybe he could use his  _ fatherly _ affections, as questionable and baseless-in his opinion-as they were, to his own benefit. Also, going to solitary confinement would put a stop to the multitude of the ways he could get out of the headquarters, render his chances at freedom almost naught.

“Alright.” G said, trying to sound defeated. “Your apartment it is.”

And in a way, Genesis somehow was defeated.

Not because of the bullshit the gunslinger had fed him about Angeal loving him or how his death would devastate the Banoran. But because the red-eyed marksman had told him Sephiroth could kill him. The verity of that statement had landed a hit somewhere inside him that he stubbornly wanted to deny to acknowledge. 

Once, a long time ago, he might have had no problems with that notion. 

He might have offered up his life if the silver-haired man had so much as wished for it.

But  _ never again. _

He tried not to think about how his childhood friend was bantering with his  _ lover _ , both of them perched on top of him. He tried not to think about how that made a stinging pain stab in his chest, how it made him yearn for something that was long dead and gone.

_ Never. _

He would lie in wait until he had the perfect opportunity, and the exact whereabouts of his green-eyed  _ friend _ , and that would be when he’d strike, when he’d break free and finally get his answers, finally have his pound of flesh.

He’d make Sephiroth bleed.

The dead weight of Angeal’s body pressing his legs to the ground was lifted, hesitatingly, Vincent’s hold tightening as they made sure he wasn’t going to start attacking them again, and slowly he was released.

It took every ounce of his nonexistent willpower to force down the desire to strike back against the duo that had manhandled him into submission; it was hard not to associate it with yet another painful recollection. 

Slowly, he gathered himself, straightening to his full height before walking over to where his sword had fallen, not maintaining eye contact with either occupants of the room. Retrieving Rapier again, he followed the the gunslinger toward where the door used to be only for a pair of cellular devices to go off in unison, shortly followed by a series of ringings coming from the ground where Angeal’s phone had been thrown out of his hands when Genesis had attacked him.

Observing the younger First as he made his way to his phone, there was a series of soft beeps coming from his back, presumably Vincent’s device, but the scarlet-haired First paid it no heed. There was the click of a mobile phone being flipped closed while another was just flipped open, big muscular arms bringing the sleek black gadget to the blue-eyed soldier’s ear.

Those pale lips parted only to pause midway, sky blue irises cutting away to the marksman and narrowing before returning to him. Recognition flashed in them, and Genesis scoffed. “Fine. Answer your call when I’m gone. Whatever suits you best, it’s not like I have any interest in taking over your empire.”

Shaking his head, he was about to face the doorway before something else caught his eye. Frowning, the redhead gazed into those blue irises to find them grief-stricken, and while the younger man had been just as sorrowful on the first day he’d seen him, he’d been more or less weary, resigned and somewhat angry for the past couple of days, but-…

…-there was a pinprick of pain in the side of his neck.

And Genesis couldn’t believe what was happening.  _ Again. _

Turning to look over his shoulder with a lopsided sneer and a expression of sheer incredulity, he swatted the hand away with enough force that whatever Vincent had been giving him-though the container was empty already-was flung across the room. There was the sting of broken skin, of a ruptured blood vessel, of carmine crawling down epidermis only to be absorbed by the fabric of his shirt in a gradually expanding rust-scented and rust-colored stain.

Distancing himself from the gunslinger as his eyes darted between the two of them, flickering between red and blue while he stumbled backwards into a corner, G raised his sword sluggishly in a feeble attempt to make them back off. But he knew it wasn’t going to last. 

“S’ye ‘ad your-last resort all-’long…” The scarlet-haired ex-First slurred bitterly. “Ye-betrayed me ‘geal...” It was starting to get harder to hold his sword up there in front of him, his fingers deciding to slowly but surely go lax against his will. Angeal had started moving toward him, halting every time he managed to raise his weapon feebly only to have that spurt of energy burn out too fast. His back was slowly sliding down the wall, his legs going weak under him as his vision swam, tilting sideways, and everything took too much focus for him to make sense of.

And when Rapier finally clattered to the floor, the dark-haired soldier rushed forward in a swimming figure of black that was too hazy around the edges. It made him want to try and defend himself, to run away, but a muscular arm had hooked under his shoulder, gently lowering him to the ground while it was getting harder and harder for G to keep his eyes open, while he could feel his lips go lax around the soundless words he’d been mumbling like a mantra as though they’d keep him awake.

“I’m sorry Genesis.” Mako-blue eyes told him, the statement resonating somewhere inside him; and something miniscule and insignificant wanted to accept that apology, believed the anguish behind it, trusted the verity of those words. 

But it was quickly pushed back by the betrayal, quickly snuffed out by the starless night that overtook him.

_ You betrayed me Angeal. _

_ You betrayed me Angeal. _

_ You betrayed me. _


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The report came in that Sephiroth was headed towards Banora. 

Standing in a wrecked apartment attempting to corral an extremely overwrought redhead, Vincent had tried to think objectively. He found that this was difficult when someone was snarling threats and insults at his lover. It was also difficult when that ‘someone’ was the victim of sexual assault by his son. Instantly, the crimson-eyed man had been able to tell what had drawn Sephiroth to Genesis; he was the exact opposite of him. And-he exasperatedly acknowledged-they more than likely balanced each other out, in better times. Rhapsodos was also a very attractive man, though he wasn’t really his type; his fiery, melodramatic disposition had nearly prevented him from being able to follow through with what he’d been trying to do. Verily, Vincent was caught between wanting to collapse on the floor in a fit of laughter, and wanting to force him into a chair and make him count to ten. He’d restrained himself-of course-but only through years of prior discipline. Genesis-he had thought more than once-would have made a  _ fantastic  _ Turk. He was really rather fond of him-which was bizarre considering they’d met only a few days before-but he genuinely wanted to box his ears and then spank him thoroughly for being so awful to Angeal. Because it was really like dealing with an enraged teenager.

That being said, Genesis was also very broken.

Levity aside, the redheaded individual they were trying to help was obviously beyond their reach. The minute he’d switched to the ‘bad cop’ routine and thrown a comparison to his former lover at him...he’d known it was a lost cause. Because the younger man responded with sarcasm and vitriol. It had forced him to revert, to supplicate in the form of a father seeking to rehabilitate his son...and while that was true, he also knew that the blue-eyed man was neither sympathetic nor understanding of his cause. Genesis wanted to kill Sephiroth. It was more complex than that-of course-a thousand emotions were behind that impassive visage at the mere mention of his name, but it had earned his acquiescence...which was really all he wanted. Truthfully, he didn’t like falling back onto tactics he’d learned via occupation. Turk methodology could be as damaging as it was effective, and it didn’t take the opposite party’s emotions into consideration. But when there was a foot on his lover’s throat and he knew that firing his gun wasn’t an option...he’d run out of other venues. Bitterly, he was surprised that his ‘adversary’ hadn’t seen through it; Rhapsodos didn’t strike him as the type who wouldn’t research Intelligence-related scenarios. Then again...maybe he was too far gone to remember it.

He didn’t know how to tell Angeal that the person they’d brought back to HQ wasn’t the same person he’d been friends with so many years ago. Genesis wasn’t cohesive with the memories the dark-haired man had shared with him. He flitted between two distinct personas, that much was clear...though he seemed to be gaining some semblance of a united cognizance over time. That didn’t guarantee closure, however...and it certainly didn’t guarantee that the persona that won out would be the individual he’d been before. The same would apply to Sephiroth, of that he was positive. Not in the sense of persona, but in the sense that he would always be somewhat broken. Unhappily, he acknowledged that neither of them could ever live remotely normal lives. There was too much pain behind them...too much focus on the extreme. The amount of physical and psychological trauma between them would have made the most hardy of war veterans cringe with horror. 

They took him to solitary. 

Watching as Angeal placed the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER on a considerably more comfortable and fluffy cot than was common, Vincent forced himself to remain objective. They had duties they needed to focus on now, and Genesis wasn’t going to be safe if he remained in either of their apartments. As the door to solitary closed, the younger man seemed to slump. All the fight seemed to go out of him and he stumbled. Instantaneously, the crimson-eyed man rushed to support him; put a steadying hand on his good arm and let him lean momentarily, though not too closely for the sake of public discrepancy. When he’d somewhat gathered himself, they made their way upwards to Deployment with solemn hearts. Because this confrontation could make or break the fate of Gaia. They were swift to dress in their uniforms, buckling latches and lacing up boots without speaking. It was agreed that they’d go solo. Sephiroth would only kill more men after all, and neither of them-especially Angeal-could handle that. 

Administration had tried to force them into sending Genesis.

Vincent didn’t think he had ever seen his partner so angry. Standing in a room filled to the brim with executives, the blue-eyed soldier had been practically spitting as he insisted that the redhead was not in the right frame of mind for close-combat. They’d been rebuffed several times, to their despair. And really, if they were trying to  _ kill  _ Sephiroth, it would make sense. The former Commander was a killing machine, that much was clear. And if all three of them went after the silver-haired former General he probably wouldn’t have stood a chance. But even if he had wanted to kill him, the redhead would draw it out and make it painful... that wasn’t the way either of them wanted to do things, and when Reeve finally stepped in on their behalf, the Board relented...they didn’t force it. That didn’t-of course-mean that they had stopped trying to suggest it entirely. The ebon-haired gunslinger couldn’t count how many times he’d been approached by a Turk who seemed to think that he was going to be slightly more benevolent than his partner. Each time, he’d sent them away angry and disappointed. It was-in his opinion-disgusting. 

And so, they went alone.

Their pilot was a seasoned veteran who didn’t blink when he was approached with the entreaty of passage. He was also probably on the fanatical side of patriotic but that was rather what they were aiming for. Within thirty minutes of leaving solitary they were boarding a chopper to head Southeast. Truthfully, Vincent was a little bit worried. Angeal’s arm was still in a sling, and while that probably wouldn’t hinder his performance much, it was still a setback. He also wasn’t angry enough to release Chaos, not at the moment anyway. He didn’t want to consider the fact that his partner might have to get injured for him to break through. The ride was mostly silent. Staring down onto the great, burning trail of fire and destruction his son had left in his wake, the crimson-eyed ex-Turk wondered despairingly if he could ever make this right. He should have killed Hojo when he had the chance, when he got an inkling of the heinous acts he was committing so many years ago. Shinra might never have been formed, SOLDIER might not have existed. If he hadn’t been such a coward the man sitting beside him, the man in solitary, and the man currently razing the world to ruins might not have gotten the unlucky hand they’d been dealt. At the same time, he knew that such thoughts were pointless; he’d chosen his path, now he had to live with it. 

The coastline was on fire. 

The dunes that hedged the town of Banora were alight with red. Like a massive, scarlet-and-smoke line; it was eerie to observe it from so high up. Angeal was shifting restlessly next to him, those blue eyes crinkled at the edges with obvious anxiety. Despite the fact that his childhood had been poor, it seemed that the younger man had many good memories of his youth. Vincent sincerely hoped there would be something left to salvage of it...but it was unlikely. Inland and the damage was worse...farms were nothing but shattered heaps of wood...crops aflame as far as the eye could see. It was such a waste. Watching as a group of unmoored cattle rushed across the soil, the gunslinger couldn’t help but think of it as a waste. So many lives destroyed, so much hate, and for what? To prove a point? He didn’t know, couldn’t fathom it. Even in his darkest of moments he’d never considered killing innocent civilians or robbing them of their livelihood just for his own twisted satisfaction. 

“ _ Stop! _ ”

Angeal’s voice came out strangled with fear, doused with horror. It was enough to make him jump in his seat, to swivel his head abruptly to see what his comrade was looking at. The General was nearly falling out of the helicopter, eyes fixed on a small circle of houses that seemed to be-for now-unlit. However, there were signs of a struggle. As they descended, he could see that several of the doors had been kicked in, that there were bodies lying in driveways and near vehicles. The low, thin wail of an infant became apparent; it was lying on a porch step...apparently untouched. But his partner’s focus wasn’t there, it was on a different house...one at the very end of the row near to the main road. Here, too, the door was open and as the bird lowered just enough so they could open the door and jump out, the blue-eyed man took off at a sprint that left Vincent bolting along in his wake trying to catch up. Everything about this screamed that it was a trap.

From Angeal’s previous description, this was where his mother lived. Anxiety bubbled in his throat as he tried to get the younger man to pull back, to approach slowly. Nothing he said was working. They weaved between fallen bodies, between rubble and refuse to charge up the cobblestoned path to the front. A grapevine wreath was lying crumbled next to the entryway, though it seemed that whoever had answered the door had done so without a struggle. Despairingly, the crimson-eyed ex-Turk acknowledged that that was  _ not good.  _ This was bad. Extremely bad. Through the front door and he nearly collided with the former Commander’s back, steadied himself at that powerful waist and tried to catch his breath.

“Angeal.” He panted.

Angeal didn’t respond. Something was wrong. Reluctantly, as if his mind had already acknowledged what he would see, Vincent peeked over a broad shoulder only to have his breath hiss through his teeth. Scattered tableware, broken chairs and fallen picture frames. A vase of flowers smashed to the floor and a long, red stripe leading from what he assumed was the backyard to what must have been the dining room table. And his blood turned to ice as he observed what lay there; followed the pale arch of an outstretched palm that seemed to have been extended in supplication...followed the simple but soft-looking stitch of pastel-colored cloth to a head of thick dark hair streaked with grey...followed it to empty, unseeing grey eyes and an expression that was soft, gentle and sad...but with the hint of a smile. He heard Angeal whimper  _ ‘Mom’,  _ and it was if Vincent was breaking for him, shattering into a million pieces for the man he loved.

Because lying on the floor with a loving expression, yet no life left in her body...was Gillian Hewley.  


* * *

_ … “Angeal… Angeal… Come over here, help me with this plough.” A tanned dainty hand brushed sweat-soaked black hair away from an equally tanned forehead. Those blue-grey irises were smiling at him, even though he knew his mother was tired... _

_...“Mmm, look at these.” The smell of dumbapple pies filled the entirety of their quaint little house, dumbapple pies that simply smelled different, that tasted different, and Angeal always wondered if there was something magical in his mother’s fingertips as she made them. “Take them to the neighbors, and take that one to your father on your way to Genesis’ house. I’m sure he’d be delighted.” A kindly voice spoke before those lips broke into the most beautiful smile as she watched him leave the house... _

_...The shadow of her mother’s form against their makeshift tent inside Angeal’s room was both at the same time scary and hilarious. Genesis couldn’t stop laughing beside him, his tiny hands holding the children’s book about basic constellations shaking with every peal of laughter. The dark-haired seven year old stuck his head out of the flaps, watching as his mom made the final touches to the fabric that served as their small tent, hanging it with another strip of cloth and a safety pin to a nail on the wall. “There! All done.” She smiled at him and Genesis, who had followed his suit, who was following his mother with big blue eyes. “Night night boys, sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”... _

_...“I’m going to be a Soldier! Mom look at this!” He had been running through the fields, vibrating with excitement and immeasurable joy since he had seen the poster and gotten Genesis to agree with him. His hands were shaking as he showed the pamphlet to the slowly straightening woman who was wiping her brow with the edge of her green scarf. Encircling his arms around his mom’s waist, he hugged her real tight from behind, which earned him a joyous laughter. “I’ll be able to protect you and dad, Genesis, everyone! I could also buy us a new house when I get older! I’ll be able to teach everyone what it means to be a honorable warrior!” Burying his face in the green fabric, he smelled the scent that was his mom’s, unforgettable, unrivaled. “You’d be proud of me, won’t you mom?”... _

“Mother!” Angeal cried out, running to Gillian’s side, falling to the ground onto his knees after Buster Sword as he gathered her in his arm, shaking her. “ _ Mom _ , wake up!” 

But she was already cold, freezingly cold, and his mother was never cold. Always warm, always kind and sweet. Always smiling, smiling,  _ smiling _ .

Even in death.

A pained noise escaped his throat as he doubled over her form, pressing his forehead to her cold one; the very same forehead that used to be drenched with sweat as she worked on the fields alongside his father, alongside him,  _ alone _ . The very same forehead that was now etched with beautiful lines that showed how much she had cared for him, showed how much she had sacrificed in order to make him into the man he was now. 

“Mother… wake up… wake..up…” His voice was breaking, getting lower and lower, and his eyes burned with tears, the droplets seeping through the tight line he was pressing his eyelids into, to travel the length of his lashes and drop onto the unresponsive visage below his.

Another pained noise, the choked sob that escaped him in a gasp, and he cradled her head against his chest, rocking forward as he buried his face inside the short grey-streaked locks, as he tried to breathe her in before death could take it all away.

His heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Because despite all he had come to know about the Jenova project, about the horrendous things his mom had done, either willingly or unwillingly, Angeal couldn’t judge her. He couldn’t stop loving her, couldn’t forget all the things she had done for him, couldn’t forget their memories together. No, he couldn’t forget how he kept missing the taste of her cooking, how he kept missing her smile, the calming scent of her clothes, how he’d sometimes stolen them, hidden them under his pillow so he could smell them whenever he’d wake up from a nightmare.

And his heart wanted to shatter into another million pieces because he had so many things he’d wanted to tell her. So many unspoken words.

He hadn’t really gotten a chance to sit down and talk to her; to tell her that he knew, that she didn’t have to bear the burden of this ugly secret alone anymore. That there was no need to be ashamed, that he didn’t regret anything, that he didn’t want for anything except her happiness. That he didn’t love her any less because of this knowledge. Because it was time for it to stop haunting their lives… and now their lives were dashed to pieces… their world crumbling around them in fire and ash.

Angeal hadn’t told her that Genesis was alive, that he wasn’t still okay enough to come visit her, but maybe he would be, one day. The very same redhead who had called her mom once only to burn with shame. The same redhead the General had thought dead until three days ago.

Angeal hadn’t told her that he had finally found someone who understood him, who made him feel at peace, made him feel like he was the luckiest person on Gaia if the circumstances allowed them to. He hadn’t introduced Vincent to her, hadn’t told her how brilliant the man was, how strong and at the same time kind. He hadn’t told her how the gunman had a sense for honor in a world that seemed not to care about such outdated notions-as Genesis had put it-how the red-eyed individual’s presence in his life was like a breeze of fresh air; of how it made him want to push forward against the odds, to move ahead despite everything that life had been throwing their way.

Angeal wanted to have been here when Sephiroth had come, to at least put up a fight, to defend her like he’d promised to, to tell her that it was not his silver-haired friend, but a  _ monster _ that wore his face. That Gillian Hewley’s son had murdered his comrade three months ago only to have this calamity befall them when he’d thought that he’d put a stop to all the madness, to the sorrow and pain once and for all.

He had failed her, and it broke him to another million pieces.

The clang of Vincent’s boots made him jump somewhat, sobering him up for a moment, and when he looked up, found those beautiful scarlet irises reflecting his pain, his grief, his anguish, he couldn’t hold it in, couldn’t try and put a strong face in front of his partner, couldn’t stop the downturn of his lips as a black leather-clad hand closed over his good shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze.

He couldn’t stop the feeling of utter defeat that settled inside him.

He’d been too late.

Again.

Strong hands encircled him and Gillian’s lifeless body that Angeal had been holding onto as though for dear life, the contour of a handsome face pressed against the back of his head as Vincent embraced him from behind. There was a flutter of onyx hair at the back of his head that made him press his eyes shut, more tears streaming down his face as his companion placed a kiss amongst the locks. 

“Is there anything I can do?” was the soft whisper.

His right hand curled over a black-clad forearm, holding just as tightly as he bowed his head, trying to gather himself as much as he could. 

There was a flutter of clothes, a creak of wood at the entrance and both of them looked up, Vincent’s hand was already out of his fingers and holding his gun, though still in his holster, but ready to shoot. His prosthetic arm though, tightened around his form in a protective and caring gesture.

Standing in the entryway, looking no worse for wear, was the demon of Wutai himself. Immaculate in his leathers, lapels straight, pauldrons gleaming. That mane of silver hair was like a separate entity from his body, though some of it was streaked with red. Those emerald eyes glittered with a bone-chilling, incoherent light, hungry and fixated. His visage was as blank as ever, and it occurred to Angeal-in a fit of despairing derision-that the difference between Vincent’s impassive face and Sephiroth’s was that Vincent at least looked  _ alive.  _ Like there was a soul in his body with a conscience. The man before him wasn’t a man, he was a husk; a husk filled with an empty, bottomless darkness. Hysterically, the former Commander wondered if this was what Genesis would end up being if they set him free. More than ever he was convinced of their decision to keep him confined. Because that emptiness was familiar, painfully familiar now that he had seen it in another set of eyes.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Deep, like the roll of a noir velvet wave. The younger man’s mouth moved but his face didn’t...didn’t reveal anything of what was going on in his mind. Those leather-clad fingers were curled around Masamune, and the other was behind his back. Booted feet stepped forward somewhat and there was a distinctive  **_*click*_ ** as Vincent cocked his gun. A halt; and then slowly, inexorably, the hand emerged...and Angeal’s heart dropped. In insidious fingers was a picture of him and Genesis. Specifically, one of them shipping out to go to Midgar. Tilting his head as if obscenely fascinated, Sephiroth lifted the picture up and narrowed his eyes. And Angeal wanted to shout at him to drop it, to stop  _ torturing  _ him, to stop killing the people he loved and leaving them in pieces, but he couldn’t. His voice was caught in his throat, all the anger, grief, and despair coiling together until it choked him. Vincent was oddly still at his back, and he sensed that the older man was barely restraining himself. For once, he wished that he wouldn’t. 

“A mistake, wasn’t it?” was the musing comment, digits brushing the side of the frame. Green irises cut to him. “SOLDIER, I mean. You both could have had so much better, but you were never meant to, of course.” Those eyes stared over his shoulder at Vincent. “And  _ you,  _ you could have stopped it all, but you didn’t.” Silence, gaze against gaze until he felt rather than saw his partner look away. “Coward.” The former General looked at Gillian. “At least now, she won’t have to see how far such cowards have fallen…” A barely discernible smirk. “Into each other’s arms, or so it seems.” 

And that didn’t make him lose it. 

Despite the fact that his mother was lying there, dead; it wasn’t what made him lose it. His eyes traveled to that impassive collar; to dark lapels and a proud nose...and then to his cheek. And there, peeking out amongst lengths of silver hair, was the shadow of a lipstick stain. It felt like his vision zeroed in on it...spread it wide and then drew back...like the world narrowed to a point. Because evidently...Gillian had invited Sephiroth in...which meant that he had  _ played a part.  _ He had knocked on her door-possibly before going to the rest of the neighbors-she had graciously, if not without fear, let him in. She had let Sephiroth into her- _ his- _ house, most likely hoping she could just  _ talk  _ to him. She had probably embraced him, smiled at him like she was smiling in death.  _ She had kissed his cheek-! _

Last time they had fought, Angeal had been wrought with so many emotions. And that had been his downfall. Bowing his head to look at the fingers that the last thing they had held onto had probably been a silver-haired man-the very man that had murdered her-the blue-eyed First tried to empty himself of all the rage, the anguish, of all things that could possibly cloud his judgment, that could hinder his movements in the battle. He was already at a disadvantage. He wasn’t going to give Sephiroth the upper hand by being distracted. It was their last chance. Their last hope. The ex-SOLDIER had already laid waste to one continent and was nearly finished with his second in less than a week. There were enough unnecessary deaths and enough bloodshed.

Trembling lips placed a kiss on a cold forehead, before lowering his mother’s body on the ground. Placing a palm on his right shoulder, the dark-haired soldier focused as he tried to cast a Cure before getting the sling undone. The magic wouldn’t do anything the mako hadn’t done already, it would just help ease the pain somewhat.

He didn’t need to look back at his partner to know how tense he was and how upset because of the words Sephiroth had uttered only minutes ago. Angeal knew there probably wasn’t anything he could do to help assuage the older man’s deep well of guilt, but maybe, just maybe if they managed to defeat the silver-haired man today and confine him somewhere, there was a hope for rehabilitation, for fixing everything once and for all.

Rising and taking the Buster Sword with him, the scrape of steel against wood broke the tense silence that had fallen around them. The blue-eyed soldier knew that their enemy just wanted to prolong his anguish, his pain; just like he had in Junon. That was why he hadn’t attacked them yet. That, and the gunslinger standing beside him as Angeal turned to face the man he’d once called a friend.

“I know why you did this.” His grip tightened around the hilt of his blade, remembering the hardships his family had to endure to give Buster Sword to him. “I won’t let you have it.” Fierce mako-blue met hollow mako-green.

And Angeal charged, swinging his sword before slamming it against Masamune in an uppercut that forced Sephiroth back and outside  _ their _ house. His shoulder protested against the impact, but the First pushed through the pain, gritting his teeth as he followed his adversary outside.

Vincent was quick to follow, but he didn't look to see where his red-caped comrade had went. By the time they made it out to the square, Sephiroth was gone. The only thing that indicated he had ever been there was a wisp of fading corrupted mako. Swallowing a curse, the former Commander forced himself to concentrate, to put his back to the wall of his childhood home and raise his blade in the 'guard' position. A rustle to his left made him whip his head around but it was only his partner; the older man had evidently made his way up to the roof and had settled in front of a gable. Their eyes met, and crimson irises were obscured for a moment as the ex-Turk blinked in greeting. He returned the gesture, but they otherwise did not exchange words. It was strange-he reflected-waiting in anticipatory silence. He was overcome by a single-minded sense of calm...by a focus that seemed to come from deep within. Whatever else happened today, he accepted it. He couldn't do anything but accept it. 

The fountain in the middle of the circle of houses exploded.

Really, it was more like it combusted from a massive impact. Darkness appeared at the figurine at the center, and then there was a circular vortex of water exploding in all directions, obscuring their vision. The hum of Masamune became apparent, grew closer, and then it went straight past him. The dark-haired First nearly broke his neck turning it around to try and discern where he was going. There was the retort of Vincent's gun, the ruffle of his cloak, the sound of a brief scuffle and then two twin snarls before his vision cleared. At that point the eldest of the trio was vaulting to the next roof over with Sephiroth in pursuit. Every so often he would turn to fire his weapons, but otherwise he was forced to constantly evade. Masamune was a silver arc, dancing forwards in great-almost teasing-strikes before seeming to back up and enjoy the chase. 

With a sick feeling, Angeal realized what he was doing.

Sephiroth had figured out that Chaos' emergence was emotionally-based. It was tactically logical that he would try to take Vincent out before he came after him. Moreover, he was injured, and therefore a liability to their team. And it was just like the former General to go after the most difficult target first. The problem was that the gunslinger and the swordsman were unevenly matched; Vincent would be okay as long as he stayed far away from his son. That could only last for a certain amount of time. Where both of them were fast, the youngest of them had an enhanced mentality. He didn't know the crimson-eyed man's fighting style, but he would quickly learn. Angeal had long ago recognized that his lover was not a close-combat fighter. He obviously didn't like it, and he seemed to think of his guns like extensions of himself...much like a soldier did with their blade. Once those extensions were eliminated, it was only a matter of time before the green-eyed ex-First got what he wanted.

Mainly, Vincent's death.

This he couldn’t allow. 

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, even if he had to fight till the last drop of his blood, till his last breath, Angeal wouldn’t let Sephiroth take anyone else away from him.    
  
The silver-haired man had to go through him to be able to get to Vincent, and later Genesis.

What he was about to do didn’t sit well with him, but that was the only thing that could possibly work in their favor, considering their circumstances. The dark-haired First knew that when this battle was over,  _ when  _ not if, the ex-SOLDIER was defeated and confined, he had to sit down and mourn not only his mother, not only his redheaded comrade, but another thing Sephiroth had taken from him; his honor.

Angeal Hewley wasn’t a man who’d fight dirty, but the former General had left him no choice. It was really irrational to think that their green-eyed adversary had already been fighting dirty since the Nibelheim incident could be an excuse to resort to such means, but he was desperate.

Like they had tagteamed Genesis back in his apartment, he knew that once he started engaging Sephiroth, Vincent would probably have time and the chance to be able to shoot. And if he had to die, if it came to that, he was sure that Chaos would be upon the younger man by then.

Running forward with his sword held at his back, Angeal gained enough momentum to leap up and forward, bringing his sword down to cleave the space Sephiroth had been occupying a split second ago. The General nearly groaned as the dark Lifestream gradually faded into nothingness, leaving both he and Vincent wondering when and where the youngest of them was going to appear.

“I didn’t take you for a man who constantly ran away from his foes Sephiroth! Is this how far you’ve fallen?! Come back and  _ fight _ like a  _ man! _ ” The former Commander called at nothing and no one in particular, focusing on his surroundings, to the faintest rustle of debris on the ground, to the crackling of dying embers in the orchards that were once overflowing with greenery. 

There was something niggling in his mind and he had but a split second for his eyes to dart toward his partner, and thankfully Vincent was really really agile. Just as Masamune was about to carve him open in half, the eldest of them was up in the air in a flutter of a crimson cape, firing rapidly at the silver-haired man who kept blocking with an incredible ease and an expression that looked almost bored. While the gunslinger was at it, Angeal rushed forward in a zig-zag movement across the tiles that cracked upon impact, his foothold slippery at best, but this was what he had to work with. Slashing diagonally as if to cut the younger man from shoulder to his opposite hip, he let his blade scrape along the the katana’s edge as he pivoted around Sephiroth, leaping over the foot that darted to kick his out, before swinging his sword in a semicircle that would have lobbed off the younger man’s head had he been any less quick on his feet.

He dodged-of course-danced away as if it was the easiest thing in the world and Angeal wished-for once-that it didn't seem like every fight with Sephiroth was based on intermittent luck. Even in the VR room, it constantly seemed as if the younger man knew what to expect of them. And he supposed that he did, in a way. Sephiroth had watched both he and Genesis rise through the ranks; he was intimately familiar with their fighting style. The only thing he could really bank on was the slight difference he and Vincent might have instead of he and the redheaded ex-Commander. That wasn't enough of a chance, however...he couldn't take that risk. And he didn't like the idea of manipulating someone he cared about to do it, but it just might work. Making eye contact with his partner, the dark-haired First widened his minutely before jerking his head to the left. For a moment, it seemed as if the gunslinger didn't get it, and then comprehension flashed across his features before they settled once more. Nodding minutely, he feinted left before dodging right.

Angeal remained as he had been.

Crimson irises widened in confusion before twisting into a dark sort of panicked comprehension. Because while Vincent might have expected him to mirror his feint...he wasn't going to do that. He left himself wide open. A kind of pleading, desperate noise escaped from the older man's throat, but by then it was too late. Sephiroth took the bait, leaving his stationary, observatory position to dart forward. The blue-eyed First made sure to give a good show; lifted his blade defensively even as he allowed himself to roll with it, to tumble backwards and smash into the roof tiles. Briefly, he was accosted with the vision of his two former friends fighting on the Sister Ray, of how their blades seemed to light up the sky with their brilliance. This-he acknowledged-was not brilliance. This was sacrifice; and if he had to mete out sacrifice for the greater good, for the man currently shouting his name, for the man locked in solitary, for the man that might kill him in a few seconds...he would do it. Blood bloomed over his lips-teeth sinking into them-as he lay there; prone...watching as the silver streak of their adversary grew in his vision. Sephiroth's focus was solely him now. Solely forward and wanting and incredibly hateful. Masamune swung high.

And Sephiroth faltered. 

It was for the merest second. If he hadn't been looking for it, he wouldn't have seen it. But the younger man's expression bled into that of fractional uncertainty, of desperation and tenuousness. The time for anyone's benevolence was over, however. Because there was a great roar, an explosion of scarlet light, and then he was knocked over the edge of the building like a ragdoll. For a moment, Angeal just lay there, stunned. Because  _ Sephiroth had had time to kill him.  _ But he hadn't. Poised on the edge of yet another murder, the silver-haired ex-General hadn't been able to run his sword through him in time. Down below, the bellows of Chaos and the song of Masamune were a discordant music, but he couldn't get over the concept that the man he had once known was still there. 

Because Vincent had been right. 

It broke his heart a little bit-he reflected-rising off the tiles and observing the scene. Father and son fought like men possessed. Swings of a massive sword and and the glowing light emanating from the demon currently trying to corner the man in a pile of rubble near the home directly across from his childhood residence. This time-it seemed-Sephiroth was more prepared for the attack. He was at least keeping his ground and they were fairly evenly matched. Lifting the Buster Sword from where he had dropped it, Angeal reflected that this wouldn't last long. He'd done what he had to. Now it was time to bring the younger man home. 

Jumping down from the roof, he stumbled somewhat before righting himself.  _ Soon _ , he assured himself inwardly,  _ soon it will all be over _ .

Running toward the scene unfolding in front of his eyes, he held the hilt of Buster Sword with both hands before bringing it down in a diagonal slash at a black-clad back. The former General was quick to pivot on his heel, something flashing in his emerald eyes before being snuffed out by the same hollow look that had been there. With his attack was blocked by Masamune, Angeal brought his sword down in a flurry of vertical swings, to have all of them blocked yet again. Engaged in a blade lock, Sephiroth’s face was an impassive blank slate as he taunted. “Is that the best you can do?”

The dark-haired soldier didn’t hesitate, reaching forward and clutching the younger man’s hand over the hilt of his Katana, he held fast as their blades gritted together, sparks illuminating their faces and the frown that was edging its way on a pale forehead. Angeal didn’t know how this teleporting thing worked, but apparently Sephiroth couldn’t do it with his hand firmly enclosed in the older man’s grasp. That was enough time for Chaos to do what it had to do. Bringing Cerberus down, the butt of the massive gun hit the back of a silvery head, forcing the blue-eyed General to move their blades somewhat aside so Masamune wouldn’t cut into a pale forehead. 

The hold in his fist went lax, but Angeal didn’t let go. 

Cerberus was raised yet again, poised as if to strike yet again, lethal, and the dark-haired General couldn’t help but yell his companion’s name in alarm before there was an angry monstrous roar behind the silver-haired man’s shoulder, a flash of shimmering magenta and Vincent reemerged, panting and obviously taxed. Hurried steps circled the youngest of them who was slumped against his bad shoulder which probably needed yet another surgery. A leather-clad hand checked for Sephiroth’s pulse before lifting a lid framed with silver lashes.

“He’s out.” The gunman uttered flatly, though there was an undertone of worry running underneath.

“Let’s get him to the facility in Junon before he awakes.” Angeal said, breathing harder and faster than usual. Blue eyes met scarlet irises and the General couldn’t help but pause, looking down, he found a golden plated hand lifting a limp arm before hooking it around Vincent’s neck, the lithe strong body in front of him lowering almost into a crouch before hooking the same hand under Sephiroth’s knees and hoisting him up into the older man’s arms.

Masamune clattered to the ground.

“You’re  _ not _ coming?” The former Commander uttered, and it was more of a statement than a question. A frown was furrowing his brow. He wasn’t disbelieving, he just couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it and what his partner was going to do. There had to be a good reason that the gunslinger thought taking the younger man to Junon wasn’t as urgent as it was to take him to wherever Vincent was going to go.

And the dark-haired First wanted to go with him, desperately, because there was no telling what the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER would do to his father when he woke up. Sure, Chaos could handle himself, but the General knew how his partner was reluctant to let the monster out while he had to take the ‘backseat’ as he’d told him. Administration be damned. They’d probably think that they had gone AWOL or maybe had switched sides, but then… that’d mean they’d turn to the next best thing they had, and that meant Genesis. 

Angeal was conflicted.

He knew he wasn’t thinking rationally, which in of itself was rather surprising, and he really didn’t know why at the moment. Something was pressing against his psych, something he’d just shut a wall in front of, ready to break free and drown him. So he opened his mouth without thought, looking up at the older man with pleading blue eyes.

“Let me come with you.” 

The dark-haired soldier already knew that Vincent was going to decline and repeat exactly what had been going through his head, but he couldn’t help but try. His heart was constricting with a multitude of emotions, and he was overwrought. Seemingly able to sense his turbulent thoughts, the older man glanced at him, and in that gaze was a thousand words. Patience, love, kindness and understanding; but more than that...more than the fact that the love of his life was about to fly away with a wanted war criminal...was the plea...the plea for  _ trust.  _ Looking down at the unconscious individual in his arms, Vincent’s face crumbled into something that was so painful Angeal felt the answering tug in his own heart...as if the agony was a shared symbiosis. 

“I’m coming back.” The gunslinger muttered before pausing. “We’re coming back.” He amended. “But there’s something I-something  _ Chaos- _ wants to try.” There was silence, and Angeal wanted to believe him, he really did...but he also knew that the red-eyed ex-Turk’s viewpoint was skewed, blinded by paternity. “You know,” Vincent said thickly, drawing him back to the present. “This is the first time I’ve ever gotten to hold him.” 

And that was what made him fold.

Really, it was enough to make him want to collapse. Not just for the man before him, but for the thousands of souls who had lost daughters, sons, mothers and fathers from this whole affair. He didn’t want to fight it, he didn’t have the  _ energy  _ to fight it. So when his lover turned his attention back to him, he merely nodded. Their eyes held for a minute, and nothing particularly needed to be said...it was understood. Those crimson irises took on a luminescent sheen and the features he knew so well after what felt like so little time blurred. Chaos re-emerged and those great, monstrous wings swept skywards. Without sparing him a glance, the demon took flight...upwards into the clouds...leaving him with the carnage below. The crimson figure circled once, and the General raised a hand in farewell...though he didn’t really know why.

Watching them go, Angeal could only hope it wasn’t the worst mistake he’d ever made. 

* * *

Genesis guessed that he’d been in the solitary confinement for probably around two days, maybe less maybe more. It was nighttime now; the lights in the cell had to be off as per protocol. 

He’d had visitors that were rebuffed by the-presumably-soldier standing on the other side of the door. The former Commander knew what this whole fuss was about. The Administration probably wanted him to fight Sephiroth alongside Angeal and Vincent. That was only logical. The problem was that, they didn’t knew if they let him anywhere near that silver-haired bastard, they probably wouldn’t be able to separate them until one or both of them was dead.

They’d been drugging him. Constantly. 

And he was aware of it, aware of everything that happened around him, just that he couldn’t move. He. Couldn’t. _Fucking._ **_Move_**.

That small insignificant part of him wanted desperately to believe that Angeal couldn’t have possibly known how much of a scare it had been for him. That he hadn’t known somehow that the drug they’d administered, instead of putting him to sleep, simply had disconnected his brain from his muscles. 

Everything was numb.

He could hear, he had cognizance of his olfactory senses, and he had come  _ this close _ to cracking open an eyelid but then he had failed. It was the routine whenever he could muster the energy to go through the ritual.

The ritual being trying to move other muscle groups. 

Orbicularis oris.

No response.

Hypothenar eminence.

No response.

By the time he’d been at the Abductor hallucis muscles, he was both incredibly frustrated and exhausted.

Deciding to push down the anger until he could actually do something about it, he’d let his consciousness drift to a drowse. 

The next time his awareness had returned to him, he wasn’t in the cell anymore, and he could feel the effects of the drug wearing off. Not in the same gradual way it did when he was back in the solitary confinement. It was leaving him far more rapidly, but he decided not to do anything rash.

He was swaying to the rhythm of boots connecting with the floor, dangling from two muscular arms before being lowered onto a really comfortable mattress that instantly dipped under his weight. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Angeal. There was the smell of vegetation which made him realize that they were in the younger man’s bedroom. Calloused fingertips brushed his hair away from his forehead, there was a sigh and a kiss was placed just shy of his hairline. 

The mattress shuddered a little as the blue-eyed First got up, padding heavily and-if Genesis ventured to guess-wearily around the bed. There was the soft creak of hinges, repeated as if the other occupant of the room wasn’t sure he should leave the door open or close it before the footsteps drew further and away.

The redheaded ex-First didn’t budge. 

There were a series of beeps, probably Angeal calling someone, so he focused on his hearing, trying to get as much info as he could before deciding his next move.

_ “Hey.” _ The younger man’s voice was tired, Genesis strained himself to hear the other side of the conversation but it was too far away.

_ “I’m alright. How are you? Has he woken up yet?”  _ There was a long pause during which the redhead started his ritual, moving muscles-which surprisingly-started obeying him after what seemed like an eternity of torture. 

_ “I talked to Reeve, told him that he has to take my word for it that you’ll be back and you’ll bring Sephiroth with you.” _ Cerulean eyes snapped open, moving around the room before his irises landed on the wall beside him. Rapier was perched atop a wall mount, another empty one underneath which was wide enough to be able to hold Masamune. Frowning, he looked toward the doorway, still unmoving.  _ “He gave us three days. Said he won’t be able to hold back the board for longer. Would that be enough?” _ A miniscule pause.  _ “Where are you?” _ And Angeal’s voice was both impatient and worried.

_ “Nibelheim?!” _ was the the hissed reply before more silence shrouded the house.

That was all he needed to hear. The knitted fabric of a First Class uniform was digging in his skin as it had for the past couple of days, and as much as it was irritating, Genesis couldn’t really look a gift horse in the mouth right now. It was better than the nondescript garments Angeal had forced him into for the days after his reappearance. It would keep him warm enough in the climate of the Western Continent until he got what he wanted to do, done.

Not hesitating a moment longer, he rose from the bed, taking care to be as silent as he could. His childhood friend was still talking on the phone, but he couldn’t care less. This was his only chance, and he wasn’t going to screw it up. Summoning Rapier in his grasp, the former Commander closed his eyes, focusing on the tingling sensation in his fingertips, the feeling of warmth that flowed through his veins and cast a giant ball of Firaga at the wall.

The sound of the explosion was enough to drown the  _ ‘Wait!’ _ Angeal exclaimed in the living room. 

The ex-SOLDIER didn’t wait to hear the subsequent footsteps, focusing instead on the voice inside him that kept repeating  _ ‘Jump!’ _ in his head. And jump he did, even if that meant he was going to fall to his death, then so be it.

Wind was howling in his ears, an unforgiving caress in his long auburn locks as ground was rushing up to meet him. 

But no.

Pain engulfed his torso, shooting up his spine and expanding to his left shoulder, searing until it found an outlet in the form of tearing through epidermis, the sound of fabric ripping at the back of his sleeveless turtleneck and he wasn’t falling anymore.

A flap of magnificent ebony pinion, and Genesis soared toward the starless heavens.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we have the column-POV again, which details the other side of the story while everything is happening in the present, in contrast to repeating it all in another chapter which might be kind of repetitive. We both hope that the amount of stuff happening at the same time isn't confusing... A little help with the section that contains both POVs at the same time; try reading a couple paragraphs from one side before jumping over to the other and vice versa. Hopefully, it'd be easy to get a hang of as the chapter progresses. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy.

Sephiroth woke in a cave.

Laying on his side with his hair pillowing his head, consciousness returned to him sluggishly; as if his brain was reluctant to function again. Distinctly, he was aware that he was weaponless; which wouldn’t be an issue for long...but the absence of his sword was a tangible thing. The air was cold...but not damp. Letting his eyes travel the glittering, ethereal light encompassing the subground walls...he acknowledged that there was a quietness to the space that he’d not encountered anywhere else. For the briefest of seconds, he was accosted with horror because he was forced to assume that his recollections of the past few days were not recollections but dreams. When the hysteria passed, his logical deduction insisted that he couldn’t be in the Northern Crater, because he was not encased in crystal. Instead, there were crystals all around him; jagged and luminescent; sparkling with a power that felt distinctly alive...and yet somehow not alive. Trying to raise his head was singularly stupid; pain exploded at the back of his skull to flash red and hot before his eyes. Wryly, he acknowledged that he had a concussion, a bad one. A bad enough one that the mako in his system hadn’t done much for it. He tried to call upon the corrupt Lifestream but couldn’t...something was blocking it.

He was holding someone’s hand.

The moment it registered in his mind he tried to pull away but it only gripped tighter. Closing his eyes, he attempted to call Masamune but found that he couldn't. With a jolt of sincere dread he realized that whoever it was had deducted that his use of the corrupt Lifestream not only kept him from leaving, it kept him weaponless. He tried to pull away but failed. The fingers grasping his didn’t feel...biological...they felt cold and metallic. Artificial. Gritting his teeth, Sephiroth forced himself to work through the pain in his head, to draw himself upwards with his other arm until he was nearly sprawled forward. Immediately, he was steadied, and he wanted to curse but the nausea that had risen from that single effort was too much to work through. Letting his eyes cut to the side, he felt disgust rise within him as he took in the visage of Vincent Valentine. He wasn’t looking at him; instead, those scarlet irises were focused on something ahead of him...something he was for some reason reluctant to look at. Up close, he could see the resemblance. Bitterly, he wondered if he had inherited any features from his mother at all; if he was simply a coagulation between his father and the alien cells he’d been injected with.

“Here.”

He didn’t want to look. Really, he didn’t want to _communicate._ But he was in too much pain to really fight his way out of things, and the hand wrapped around his kept him tethered to where he currently was. It had-he acknowledged-been a long time since he’d felt truly helpless. Realistically, he calculated that he had perhaps a thirty-five percent chance of escaping in his current condition. He didn’t like working with such low odds. Forcing his visage into neutrality, the ex-General turned his head to glare at the proffered Cure materia at the edge of black-gloved fingertips. Sephiroth wanted to scoff, because obviously the man before him hadn’t realized how dangerous he was at full strength.

_‘He’s dangerous too.’_

He shoved the thought away, though not before acknowledging it. It would be a grave tactical error not to acknowledge it. The man before him looked-if possible-his age. It was difficult to acknowledge that he was twice as old as he was, if not more. Confusedly, Sephiroth wondered what had slowed the aging process for him...what had kept his cells from degrading via oxygenation...as was typical in human beings.

Sephiroth didn’t take the Cure.

Not because he didn’t need it, but because he didn’t trust it. Materia could be manipulated into resembling things they weren’t, and while he knew that the individual next to him was his sire, that didn’t make him any more fond of him than anyone else. Vincent had chosen to ignore his existence; let him be locked up in the labs and experimented on until he didn’t know who he was anymore. No, it would be foolish to take any sort of offering from him, it could very well kill him. When it became clear to the older man that he wasn’t going to use what was being freely given to him, he sighed but put it away without protest. They sat a while longer, and as they did, the questions kept building in his throat, trying to force his way out of his mouth until he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

“What are you?”

The vocalization was deadpan...neutral. He was painstakingly careful to ensure that none of his emotions were revealed in the form of his voice. Despite this, thin lips quirked into some semblance of a smile.

“I’m human.” was the low response. He tried to fight down an incredulous scoff but wasn’t entirely successful. “I was born a human, but I had an issue with what Hojo was doing with his test subjects. He shot me and then experimented on me until I was partially dead.” The gloved hand-the _normal_ hand-reached over to tap on the gold-plated one. “Prosthetic. I was rotting away..” When Sephiroth recoiled as if slapped his father’s grip tightened. “Not the same rotting you’re likely thinking about, not degradation. More an...undead state without cognizance...and there were parts of me that weren’t cohesive with my physical state...rejected it. Lucrecia...your mother, she found a way to put...a demon inside me via tainted mako. It’s the only thing that saved me, but now we’re bound together...and I don’t always have the ability to control him. Chaos is tied to the earth via sinful souls, he answers only to Gaia...until very recently anyway. I can’t age because my human body is still stuck in that state of unlife. I don’t know what would happen if we were separated again.” A shrug. “Maybe I’d die. I don’t really know.”

“Why were you working so closely with...with _him?_ ” Sephiroth spat.

“I was a Turk.” Vincent said patiently, blinking slowly. “My father was a scientist, your mother was his assistant before he died. During that time I was training, but by the time I was assigned to protect the scientists in charge of the Jenova project, she was a head scientist along with Gast and Hojo. We had...a relationship up to the point when I discovered that she knew my father. When I confronted her, she seemed to think his death was her fault, and she instead sought Hojo’s guidance. He beguiled her and swiftly married her. At the time, I already knew she was pregnant; she’d not been well for several weeks before they were hastily wed...but she denied my paternity until it became clear that you would not be allowed a normal childhood. She wasn’t well...at all...and she was never well again. I confronted Hojo, he shot me, the rest is history.” His eyes moved away...forward again, those scarlet irises seemed to flinch as if in pain. “...Or so I thought.”

Reluctantly, Sephiroth followed his gaze. Before them was a massive, towering structure of crystallized mako. It stretched upwards, all the way to the ceiling. Shot through with aquamarine light, it suddenly made sense why the cave was so bright despite clearly being below ground. The younger man supposed it must have once been a verdant mako fountain; several thousand years old by the looks of it. Double-terminated and sticking out at all angles, it gave the brilliant impression of a cluster of geodesic stars. Housed within it...standing upright with her hands crossed over her heart and her eyes closed, was a woman. She was tall; thin and willowy, with long brown hair and bangs that partially obscured her visage. Fair, with a heart-shaped face that was beautiful in a way that was somehow painful. ‘Round her neck was a string of pearls...glittering eerily in the low light. She was dressed in white...it almost seemed like the remains of a wedding dress really, though her midriff was bare. None of it made sense at all to him really, he didn’t understand how she could be encased in stone and yet somehow look alive.

“Who is she?”

There was a long stretch of silence, and for a moment, it didn’t seem like Vincent was going to answer him. Then, he spoke.

“...Your mother.”

He wanted to deny it. Sitting there, seemingly numb in terms of any sort of reaction, Sephiroth wanted to deny it. He wanted to howl and scream and kick the man beside him away. He wanted to raze the world to ruins again and again to keep from facing the fact that the individual before him had borne him from her body. ...But he knew that he couldn’t. A part of him-and what part it was, he didn’t know-resonated with the statement. It fell into place like a puzzle piece. A horrible, twisted, painful puzzle piece, but a puzzle piece nonetheless. Hysterically, he wondered if it was the bangs. Because Vincent did not have such bangs as far as he could tell, though with the bandana it was extremely hard to say because it made the hair behind it stick up everywhere. But no...maybe it was her face...the similarity of its shape...or the arc of her brows. He didn’t know. He only knew that it felt correct, and that the man holding his hand had no reason to lie to him, it wouldn’t benefit either of them in any way.

“I don’t know why she’s here.” The gunslinger continued, seeming to take his silence in stride. “I’d assumed Hojo killed her, when I woke. But evidently he didn’t.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I...don’t know if she’s alive to be honest.”

She was definitely alive.

The longer Sephiroth looked at her, the more he felt a crawling sensation at the base of his spine. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was foreign and invasive and that frightened him. Because it indicated he was in the presence of someone who knew how to use Jenova’s cells...who had been _injected_ with Jenova’s cells. It definitely wasn’t Vincent. Morbidly, the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER wondered what would happen if Jenova cells were injected into an undead human with a demonic entity attached to his soul. Probably nothing good. No, it had to be Lucrecia who was trying to open some sort of channel with him via the Lifestream. He was reluctant to do it, because then he would have to tell Vincent. And he did not want to have a ‘family reunion’ because he wanted to kill everyone on the planet.

He shoved the part of him away that insisted that maybe he did not want to do that.

It didn’t really work.

“She’s trying to talk to me.” He spat.

The hand grasping his loosened somewhat in shock and he took that opportunity to try to bolt. He got one leg under him before he was tackled. They hit the ground and he attempted to go on the offensive despite the increasingly pressurized pain in his head. It had been growing steadily worse, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from trying to escape. The feeling at his spine grew stronger as his mental and physical resistance faded. As Vincent forced him down only to be kicked away, he rose once more to his knees but they buckled beneath him and he was unable to deflect the hands that shoved him into the ground once more. This time, his cerebral and bodily factors gave up completely...he groaned as acid filled his throat, felt some form of bright, relentless light encompass his frontal cortex. Vincent stiffened, and he assumed that Lucrecia must have found some way to reach out to him as well, but he had other, more pressing matters to attend to; mainly, the head-pain. Sephiroth heard himself retch, felt his sire hastily get off him and yank him upwards to pull his hair to the side while he vomited spectacularly onto the cave floor.

Maybe it was more than a concussion.

_‘Stop!’_

Her voice was very barely audible, as if they were trying to listen to her from a radio that was barely picking up her signal. Tinged with the edge of fear...it was girlish, soft but lingering on the edges of a kind of hysteria he couldn’t really appreciate. Abruptly, his vision swam, and he was treated with the sight of the woman before them opening her eyes. Vincent’s intake of breath was clearly ragged, even as Sephiroth squinted at her-bent double over the evidence of his discomfort as his brain seemed to rattle about in his skull-he acknowledged that this was supremely beyond his ability to comprehend...and that was saying something because he was far from stupid. 

 _‘Stop!’_ Again, the sense of urgency, not unlike when he had first communed with Jenova. _‘You’re cerebrally hemorrhaging.’_ was the swift anecdote. _‘Take the Cure.’_

Sephiroth wanted to argue but judging by how much discomfort he was in, she was probably right. When the materia was proffered once more, this time with a shaking palm, he took it. Immediately the sense of relief was evident. It felt like the entirety of his head was slowly deflating. He sagged and Vincent immediately took his hand and pulled him down again. The younger man allowed it, not because he couldn’t break free now, but because he was curious.

“How are you here?”

The gunslinger’s voice was thick with grief, and he wondered derisively if he regretted shacking up with Angeal. Almost immediately, there was something that was not-unlike a mental slap at the back of his skull and he stiffened only to glare at the woman in front of him. Her expression remained the same but her eyes were sparkling, as if she was laughing at him. With a jolt of abhorrence and dread, he realized that Lucrecia was reading his mind like an open book...invading his psyche like Hojo had invaded his body. He felt tainted...contaminated by her scrutiny. The second that thought crossed his mind he was accosted with a feeling of regret...of apology; he shoved it away vehemently, unwilling to surrender to sympathy.

 _‘When I used the Chaos-tainted Lifestream on you...you didn’t wake up immediately. I thought you were dead, so I tried to...I tried to end it…’_ A pause, and Sephiroth wondered if she really thought anything she said was going to be a good enough to excuse her abandonment. _‘The Jenova cells in me wouldn’t let me die...so I took myself here, stood here until the mako grew up around me. I never thought I’d see you again...or our son. I’m so sorry.’_

There was silence, and the silver-haired man restrained himself with difficulty. He knew she could feel his fury. Lucrecia recoiled against it. At the same time, she appeared to be trying to supplicate him...and that-if possible-made him angrier. Because how _dare_ she think that she had a place to have a voice in his life after all this time?! How _dare_ she talk to him when it was only to say that she’d _chosen_ this fate over fighting for him?! If possible, he hated her more than he hated Vincent, because at least _Vincent_ had the excuse of having a primordial demon infused into his body. Dr. Crescent had no such limitations. Only her pathetic, snivelling grief, her crystal cave and her half-baked apologies. Because Lucrecia was always going to see herself as a victim, she was always going to be weak to her own whims because she was a weak-minded individual.

“I understand where you’re coming from.” His father was saying out loud, perhaps so that the two of them could hear each other. “But you could come out now...if you can’t do it yourself...I can help you.” There was a brief sense of retreat...of cowering. This was quickly followed by uncertainty, of a slight glimmer of hope. An image of Vincent appeared in Sephiroth’s mind, of him reaching forward to stroke his face...of him leaning forward to- _ugh-_ it was a memory. A  memory of Valentine kissing Lucrecia. The younger man shuddered. “That’s not going to happen.” was the calm, placid response. “Lucrecia...I love-I _loved_ you-but you chose Hojo over me, even after everything you always chose him and I was always left alone. I...don’t look at you like that anymore. I’ve found someone else.” Another set of emotions that weren’t his tumbled into his brain; surprise, grief, resentment. “I’m sorry, Lou. But I don’t love you anymore.”

It seem to take her a monumental effort to recover, to withdraw from her memories of his father to return her focus to him. When she did, her psychic tangibility was far more removed...distracted and despairing, but she still spoke to him.

 _‘The Lifestream took something from you.’_ She said quietly. _‘You’ve recovered some of it, but you’ll need all of it, to know yourself.’_

Confused, Sephiroth opened his mouth; and again his mother seemed to retreat. But then, there was a sensation in the back of his skull. Not unlike a flower unfurling, it slowly grew behind the emotional rift that had been fraying at the seams ever since his first fight with Chaos. This was different...this brilliance seemed to build and build; to push along the fractional tear until he knew it was going to rip it asunder. Like a pot about to burst into a roiling, frothing boil, the entirety of his psyche seemed to foam and quiver. Distantly, he felt himself try to rise only to fall to his knees, felt Vincent catch him somewhat as he demanded to know what Lucrecia was doing. The fissure trembled, pushed outward...grew swollen and tempestuous...leaking the refuse of before into the blackened...ruined landscape of his mentality.

“ _Stop!_ ”

The demand that left his lips felt inhumane...felt animal in its intensity as he snarled his resentment at such treatment. But it was too much-too _strong_ -all at once...he couldn’t fight it back...couldn’t pour that hatred, bloodlust and grief into it as he once had before. And he still felt it, but it was instead tempered by _guilt,_ by _sorrow._ The image of all the cities he had burned rose in his mind and the sadness that came with them was heinous. It suffocated him, poured into his psyche like tepid water until it felt as if it was pouring over his tongue. Faces...nameless faces... _children_ he had killed, mothers and fathers and infants. He heard himself make a strangled, horrified sort of noise, felt himself collapse as blood began to trickle from his nose...over his chin as his eyes rolled back...as _retribution_ thundered into his psyche. He remembered the affectations of affection, of friendship and love and the trust his men had put in him. The numbness was replaced by agony, the anger by anguish, bloodlust by weariness...the sense that he couldn’t _do_ this anymore. And he _hated_ her. He _hated_ her with every fiber of his being.

Because Lucrecia had returned Sephiroth’s humanity.

_‘You’ll understand...in time...why this part of you is so important. I’m sorry it’s so painful for you now, but you shouldn’t go without it.’_

Kneeling on the cavern floor with copper pouring over his lips, Sephiroth shivered and shivered until the tremors racing through his body morphed themselves into his voice. Into a low, senseless kind of wail that felt like it was coming from the depths of his soul. Because it felt like he was being torn _apart_ in her effort to put him back together. And he had been _fine_ as he was...fine with his focus...fine not caring about what he was doing. But now he had this to contend with again...this emotion that Jenova had muted in the reactor, and what Gaia had ripped from him when he died. This warmth, this _heat,_ this knowledge that he was less than perfect because he was a murderer, a rapist and a terrorist. He was everything that he had sworn he would never become when he joined SOLDIER. Everything he had set out to vanquish, everything he abhorred as a man he had become. _She couldn’t do this to him!!_

 _‘But I can.’_ was the soft response. _‘And I did. Because while I may not have been your mother, I still love you. You are a beautiful man, Sephiroth...your soul is_ **_beautiful._ ** _”_

Sephiroth _howled_..and then he lunged.

It was far too easy, easier than it should have been. He ripped himself from that iron claw, uncaring if he took it with him. He didn’t-but he wouldn’t have given a damn if he had done so. Tendrils of dark Lifestream curled around him, licked at him until he could almost tell himself that it had swallowed him up again, that everything was as it should be. It wasn’t. Even as Masamune appeared in his hand he acknowledged that he was irrevocably damaged, his purpose was irrevocably ruined. Vincent was saying something; urgently, quietly...and then louder...no more. _No more._ His wing exploded from his back in a waterfall of pain and feathers. Crouching, he lunged into the air...exploded into the upper levels of the cavern only to wheel back and charge towards that crystalline structure that housed his _‘mother.’_ He didn’t have a mother. Raising his hand, he curled it into a fist...watching as streaks of tainted Lifestream rushed towards her-too fast for the ex-Turk to intercept-and he followed. There was the vision of droplets of water hung in black spider silk; they hovered...hissing, whispering...as if singing a poisonous lullaby. Then-just as quickly-they descended inwards, the crystallized mako shuddered and then cracked...like a pane of glass webbing up from extreme cold.

And then Sephiroth ran straight through the middle.

The cavern seemed to quiver with the result of his actions; and the light around him...the light emanating from the crystals wavered before becoming steady once more. He was-intimately-aware of the spray of blood when his sword finally connected with Lucrecia’s body. He was equally aware of Vincent’s cry of pain. What he had not expected was her quiet acceptance...the sense of soft surprise, and then calm retreat. There was a brief image in his mind...of a bright, white hospital room...of _pain..._ of _breathless_ anticipation. A white sheet over shaking knees and Hojo between them...blank-faced and ever-uncaring. Of agony, of relief, of a cry piercing the air and the sight of a tiny, squirming red-covered body handed to a tech. Of begging, of _crying..._ of utter, complete and monumental despair. It was nearly enough to throw him to the ground...to stop his wing in the middle of their flight. As quickly as it had come, the image faded...dissolved into a watercolor of images that he couldn’t make any sense of before winking out. The cave was plunged into darkness.

And so Lucrecia Crescent died as she had lived; silent...alone...and all of her own doing.

Blind with grief, with the ingress of his emotions and the terrible, horrible truth that he was not as inhumane as he wanted to be, Sephiroth tore out of that cavern as if Hell was on his very heels. He didn’t stop to see if Vincent followed...didn’t look back to consider the aftermath. He only knew that he had to get away, that he had to get _far_ away or he was going to crumble into so many pieces he didn’t know if he’d be able to pick himself up again. A part of him whispered that he was already broken, that he had allowed himself emotionalism, and now emotionalism would eat him alive like a slavering, insatiable beast. Mountains loomed before him and he considered just running himself into one of them...considered dashing himself against snowy peaks never to be seen again because he couldn’t _do_ this anymore. Over what he recognized as the reactor site where Jenova had been. Over snowy soil and ruined winter crops...towards the remains of Nibelheim…

...and into a redheaded, familiar, and incredibly angry body that was flying just as fast in the opposite direction.

* * *

Genesis slammed into Sephiroth, in a tangle of sinew, plumage and swords.

It destabilized them both; flailing and spiraling away and downwards before regaining their balance.

For a moment it seemed that time had stopped. His breath was stuck in his throat as all their shared history rushed forward in his head.

Of him lying in strong arms, of the sense of his consciousness fading as a silver-haired individual slouched over him, of him trying to muster the last ounce of his evanescent strength to reach upward and leave a trail of carmine that contrasted so beautifully with the strong line of an alabaster jaw…

And then there was the missing piece of the puzzle.

 _As he gathered his last breaths into a supplication for the green-eyed individual to look at him, to see him fading, not to forget him, to see the truth and to let go; only to have that unbowed pride shatter as the man holding him_ **_begged_ ** _for him not to die, not to leave him alone._

And it had been so long, so damn long since he had seen those brilliant brilliant eyes.

How he had missed them…

_NO!_

G screamed inside him, retaliated, pushed forward with insurmountable strength, and they collided yet again, but this time he didn’t let go, hung onto those broad shoulders as a lover would, frigid wind howling past them for ephemeral moments that felt like a small eternity until the ground met them.

Dust and dirt shot up around them. The pain of the impact-even though it had been mostly absorbed by the body lying beneath him-rattled through his very bones as he lay there for the briefest of moments before disentangling himself, rising and getting out of the small crater they had made without even sparing a glance at the man behind him.

G _hated_ Sephiroth, hated him with a passion, because that was all he had known for so long. Every person who had so much as tried to abuse him after recovering his memories, he had pictured as the silver-haired individual, and when he had killed them he had felt hollow because it hadn’t been the same, it hadn’t felt good enough, it hadn’t been right.

And now, somewhere underneath all that hate, under that abhorrence, there was something… something he had forgotten a long time ago, something sad and wilting, something that was flickering like a candle in the most vehement of winds, like the rays of sun twinkling and fading away, slowly but surely while Genesis descended deeper and deeper into the cold embrace of the ocean that was numbness, never to be seen again.

There was a war raging inside him.

G wanted for blood and wasn’t going to settle for anything less.

But Genesis wanted answers. Desperately.

He wanted to know, he _deserved_ to know why, _why_ , had they gone so _so terribly_ wrong? Why had Sephiroth took him up to the heavens only to smash him into the deepest bowels of Hell, because Genesis was still burning… flames licking all over his skin… a fading smoldering ember in his chest where his heart used to beat.

He needed to know these answers or he’d go crazy; turn into one of those mindless beasts that roamed the Banora undergrounds.

When he got them, then he could kill Sephiroth and breathe again.

Sephiroth-it seemed-was not so quick on the uptake.

He remained where they had fallen, apparently dazed...or extremely confused...one or the other...he didn't particularly give a fuck. Upon closer inspection, he came to the derisive conclusion that Sephiroth looked like absolute shit. Leaning over the crater they had made with his sword held high, the redhead acknowledged that his adversary looked like he wasn't going to be much of a challenge. For some reason this disappointed him, a lot. Emerald eyes were filled with a kind of chaos that was extremely uncomfortably familiar, and his features were blank in a way that he didn't think he'd ever seen before. Genesis was used to Sephiroth looking like a chalkboard without any writing on it-G didn't care-but this was a kind of emptiness that he hearkened to in a way that made him furious. He was also marginally thinner, though it was hard to tell with his leathers in the way.

The younger man rose with his back to him.

Slowly, carefully, as if unwilling to turn around and face the consequences of his actions. That waterfall of platinum hair he'd once loved to run his fingers through- _no, not relevant_ -swayed over a broad shoulder as his former comrade went utterly still. Only the slightest tremble of the free hand not clutching his long...sweeping blade at his left was any indication of inward or outward emotion. The former Commander was very close to just attacking the former General from behind when he began to rotate. Slowly, inexorably, Sephiroth turned...keeping his head down...almost craning it to prevent him from focusing until the very last minute. And when had the _'Great General Sephiroth'_ become so afraid?! He sure hadn't hesitated when-the redhead shuddered and growled. His former lover had finished turning, but his head was still down. He was at great risk for getting it chopped off his shoulders when he finally began to raise it...upwards...upwards still until dull green irises met enraged blue ones. And Genesis fully expected the younger man to sneer, to charge him, to at least do something remotely impressive...but he didn't.

Instead, Sephiroth nearly collapsed.

Really, he halfway did. That already pale face was drained of all color. His breath seemed to get caught in his throat and he seemed to be panicking like someone who was facing something out of his nightmares would panic. And that made G fucking furious because _Sephiroth_ was the nightmare, in his mind. Sephiroth was the monster but the individual before him was looking like his knees might buckle at any moment. He didn't move, didn't speak, just stood there and _fucking shook_ like a newly-initiated cadet that had just come out of shell-shock.

 

**Genesis**

| 

**Sephiroth**  
  
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Throwing Rapier aside might not have been a good idea when his adversary-if the shivering man standing in front of him could even be called that-was still very much armed, but G was _sick_ of this. Crying out, the redhead lunged forward at an inhuman speed, clutched the leathery lapels of a black collar before punching the man in the side of his face. That, now _that,_ seemed to shake the silver-haired soldier out of whatever stupor he’d been in.

Smirking savagely, with a flap of his wing he drew backwards, balls of fire hurtling toward the man whom G desired his blood. It felt like a fresh surge of hemoglobin was being pumped through his veins as he watched the silvery arc of Sephiroth’s sword deflect them. Genesis didn’t call them back. Instead he summoned Rapier, raised it up over his forearm as he clutched its intricate hilt with both hands before lunging forward. He brought it down, and down, and down again in a flurry of diagonal swipes, the sparks showering the man a couple of inches below him lighting up his cold cerulean eyes.

“Long time no see, my dear _monster_.”

The man in front of him growled, claiming that G wasn’t real. And that was like a throwing a lit match in a haystack. Because how _dare_ Sephiroth claim that he wasn’t real when he was standing right in front of him? When he’d fought tooth and nail to get out of Deepground?

Genesis though was confused, because _what?_ Disbelief pushed through the surface, but then the green-eyed individual attacked him and the redhead was drowning again. Blocking and blocking, and then the most bizarre thing happened. Sephiroth disappeared in tendrils of darkness, very much like that hellish sphere in the vision he had seen in the SND, before reappearing soon afterwards, several feet away from him.

_‘You think that I didn’t learn my lesson when the last clone you tried to fool me with slit his wrists in my bed?!’_

Clone? What clone? What was the silver-haired man talking about?

It was almost enough for him to drop his sword, but instead he clutched it tighter. Narrowing his eyes, he swept forward in a flurry of black plumes and SOLDIER attire, closing the distance between them as though it had never been, before swinging his sword in an uppercut. “I see you don’t recognize the man you so enthusiastically ravaged. How pathetic.” G said coolly, performing a vertical cut that was just as easily blocked as the last one, though the amount of raw energy swirling around them was reminiscent of their spars, but that was all in the past; long dead and gone. “How undeserving of his _‘Ashayam’_ s you were.”

Watching those emerald eyes widen imperceptibly, he lunged forward yet again, swinging diagonally to have their blades engage in a lock. Their visages were so close, and once, in a time long gone by, Genesis would have craned his head forward to kiss those cerise lips, but now, he just had bitterness rolling over his tongue, pouring down his own throat like cold poison as he queried. “What did I ever do to _you?_ ”

For a moment, it seemed that the man in front him faltered, that handsome face he used to touch so reverently rearranged itself into the blankest of expressions, and it made G want to do anything, everything in his might to see blood gushing down that beautiful mouth, to see those features riddled with anguish. But then again, those beryl eyes were alive and as vibrant as they’d always been.

_‘You left.’_

Genesis hadn’t… He’d asked him to leave with him, _begged_ him to come, put aside his pride, and where had that left him? _In HELL!_ G thrust his sword forward, almost past Masamune only to have it rise up to block him almost half-heartedly, almost in a subconscious manner, something etched into the younger man’s muscle memory rather than a cognizant effort. He seemed to be elsewhere, before that phrase was repeated again. And Genesis couldn’t accept that, because _Sephiroth_ had told him, in what used to be their bedroom so far away, so long ago, that together they would take the world. And when the redhead had asked him to make true on his word, the very same Sephiroth had _cowered_ , had resorted to sheer violence…

And the silver-haired man cowered here yet again, disappeared into corrupt mako before reemerging further away, and for a moment G wondered if the younger ex-First was running away from him. If it was true, it was really ironic to see how their roles had reversed. The redhead gave chase only to have the green-eyed individual put more distance between them, returning back to the ground to start the most bizarre tirade Genesis had ever heard him utter.

_‘I was too dangerous-am too dangerous-not safe for you.’_ And G wanted to hurl Firaga at him to make him understand that he **_didn’t_** need any protection, that Genesis never had. And not from the very monster who had betrayed his trust, betrayed his love, betrayed everything they had. _‘Your thoughts aren’t safe...Hojo told you your thoughts weren’t safe. Don’t trust them, don’t trust anything you see-!’_ It was like a blade swiped at something inside him, invisible and insidious. And while only moments ago G had wanted to sever that head of molten silver away from those shoulders, something stilled his hand. But only for an instant. Because Genesis had been right there, right in front of Sephiroth’s eyes, his love had been there, his heart had been there, beating and bloodied in his hands as he’d offered it to the silver-haired individual in front of him, but the ex-General had taken Masamune and stabbed _right through it_. No, he had taken it with his hands and _ripped_ it apart, limb from limb and made him watch.

“I’m right in front of you!” Genesis snarled, hatefully, bitterly, the downturn seemingly etched forever on his lips. “I _was_ right in front of you! Open and unguarded, you held my heart still beating and bloodied as I gave it to you, only to throw it away!” And it seemed the distance between them had never been there as he brought Rapier down, again and again, slashing vertically. “I gave you everything I had.” A diagonal swing that danced across Masamune’s blade. “ _EVERYTHING!_ ” He spat, continuing as he feinted left, shifted to the center only to thrust his sword in the same direction. The katana blocked Rapier, and as the edges of their blades scraped together he pivoted on his heel, kicked up with his feet at the release joint of the hand that held that long arc of steel. “Never again.” He _breathed_ as he watched Sephiroth’s sword soar, swiveling before slamming his shoulder into that chiseled chest he used to lay his head on as he dozed off to hear the younger man’s heartbeat.

“You killed Genesis when you raped him! And I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” Following his opponent, G started punching. Hammer-fist to the temple, Sephiroth’s right hand came up at the last minute to block him. Knife-hand strike to the opposite side of his neck, the other leather-clad forearm pushed his away at the last minute yet again. Uppercut to the chin, the silver-haired man moved backwards, stumbled a little but nevertheless stood his ground. A shin kick, and the green-eyed soldier leaped backwards over his leg, Genesis dropped to a crouch to kick black boots from under him only to have the ex-General back away further. The redhead called Rapier to his hand then. And from then on, G realized with malicious satisfaction that things were going south for his adversary. Sephiroth kept disappearing into wisps of dark Lifestream, and Genesis really didn’t understand why the younger man didn’t go after his discarded blade that lay around here somewhere. For a moment, he wondered if the former SOLDIER was exhausted. Not from this fight, but from fighting.

_‘... I’m sorry. You were there, and I wasn’t.’_ It angered him, because being sorry didn’t work. Being sorry didn’t turn back the time they had lost, the dreams they could’ve made real _…_ _‘For the entirety of your little tryst, I was reconditioning him. I assume he didn’t tell you? I wonder what else he didn’t tell you about.’ _…_ ‘Your thoughts aren’t safe...Hojo told you your thoughts weren’t safe. Don’t trust them, don’t trust anything you see-!’ _ …And Genesis snarled, because it was all Hojo’s fault. It all started then, in the aftermath of their _only_ date eons ago. That primal look, those words they had exchanged… _‘I think he was broken before you left, weeks before you left… he was having homicidal thoughts…’_ …Years ago, months ago, Genesis had always held that idea, that notion in mind, that hate and love were two sides of the same coin… _‘I gave him that mental pain…’_ …A punch, and the blood was a watercolor painting to his eyes… _‘I couldn’t go with you because I was concerned that I’d have another break and hurt you. And I did.’_ …And the day that it all had ended… Uncovering the truth of their origins and how it had irrevocably broken him; how Sephiroth had looked just as unhinged as he, the sense of kinship...how he had believed at that time that he’d be understood...And how their inception had affected so many aspects of their lives...how it had pushed both him and Sephiroth into the spread arms of what Angeal liked to call _insanity_ … _‘You’re right. They’re right._ I’m a monster. _’_

Genesis cried out because _so was he_ , and for how long they were going to keep hurting each other? For how long they were going to keep making each other bleed while the world laughed at them, jeered at them because instead of them destroying the world, they were destroying themselves? Mustering all his prowess behind his attack, he pressed the ball of his hand against the heft of Rapier and slammed the flat of his sword against Sephiroth’s chest.

It didn’t bring any joy to him to see him fall.

Only now he realized he was panting. Only now he acknowledged the pain blooming inside his chest, the ache expanding and encompassing his every muscle. Towering above the silver-haired man, he felt as hollow as before, if not even more. It was like having the promise of eternal bliss dangling in front of his eyes and when he was _this close_ to have it snatched away. His mind was a barren oasis; quiet except for the howling of the wind, an eerie calm settling over him. There was nothing left inside him. No fight. Nothing.

Gritting his teeth as he watched those beryl eyes overflow with crystalline tears, the acknowledgement of the urge to trail those droplets with his fingertips, to kiss the corners of those beautiful eyes slammed into him like a Dual Horn. And it had been so long, so damn long since he had seen those brilliant brilliant eyes. How he had missed them… He had to grit his teeth, he had to look away because there was a burning sensation welling up in his own eyes, the agony in the cavity of his chest rising up to choke him as Sephiroth sobbed. Had to move his blade away every time his ex-lover tried to sever his own jugular with it, tried to paint his blade and the earth with his ichor.

_‘Genesis,_ fucking kill me, kill me before it comes back! _Please!’_

Pressing his lips into a tight line that was twitching downward at the corners, Genesis sat down, straddling the younger man’s sides. When his knees hit the ground, the impact seemed to rattle his very bones, shake him to his core-if he had anything left there inside-and the ex-SOLDIER found that he was thoroughly and utterly exhausted. He let Rapier clatter to the ground, away from them, only to curl his hands around a pale neck. “Look at me.” Loosening his hold when the younger man didn’t, he demanded yet again. “Look at me damn you.” Emerald irises met his azure, and the redhead did squeeze then,  his lower lip trembling; and he had to purse his lips, had to try his damnedest to fight back the tears that were blurring his vision only to find that he couldn’t. Like at Viridiare Paths, he doubled over, would have tried clawing at his heart if it made the pain stop if only his fingers could let go of the convulsing column of Sephiroth’s throat. With his his forehead leaning against Sephiroth’s and gritting his teeth as he tried to press harder, he struggled against the lump in his throat, he struggled for breath.

A muted sob shook his frame.

Genesis couldn’t do it.

Draped over the silver-haired ex-First under him, he let his head slid to the ground, and the tears to flow freely, let his breath hitch with every sharp inhale. “I Hate it… I hate it that I don’t hate you enough to kill you… that I don’t even hate you anymore…” Fisting moonspun tresses before drawing back, Genesis gazed inside those viridescent irises. “You still don’t get it.” Looking away, he pressed his eyes shut. “ _I can’t…_ ” His voice broke over the words. “Once, a long time ago, I wanted to take over the world, _with you_... to lay it at your feet… I don’t want it, _I don’t want it anymore_ … I just want _you_ …” More tears, and the wound that had reopened in his chest was seeping red into his every word, making the words shake, making him choke on his own breath. “ _More than_ ** _anything_** _…_ ”

The press of epidermis against a porcelain forehead, and a whisper. “Come with me…” Genesis echoed from a time long gone by, almost inaudibly, and a myriad of words exploded in his mind like stars upon the dome of the sky, however so sharp it left jagged holes in his throat; and he choked because he couldn’t, just couldn’t keep going like this, when Sephiroth could say no to him again, could break him yet again, could kill him for good.

And Vincent had been right.

Sephiroth could and should kill him, because if he didn’t and the redhead did, the former Commander was going to be forced to live, forced to drag out his lifeless nonexistence because Angeal wouldn’t let him die, wouldn’t let him kill himself, and Genesis didn’t know if he could live like that anymore.

Loveless.

The silence of the silver-haired man below him though, was torture.

Forcing himself to meet those brilliant beryl oceans was even more tormenting, and yet at the same time reassuring. There was no sign of that primal malevolent expression inside them, and his heart broke from the amount of pain swirling in them, the disbelief, the denial and the self-loathing. He hearkened to it because those emotions had been what had been drowning him for as long as he could remember after their falling out. And he wished that they could go back, could somehow turn back time, so that maybe Genesis wouldn’t start the fight after Sephiroth’s appointment with Hojo. So that maybe, the silver-haired individual would follow through with the words he had said on that very same day, that he’d come with him and together they would make everyone bow to them. In some other life, maybe their other selves had done it, and maybe they got to live happily ever after. It made an acute pain stab in his chest, because he yearned for that future, he wanted those images he had conjured in his head, but he’d been forced to watch as they faded away, as their edges caught fire and those dreams folded in on themselves like pieces of parchment…leaving slate-colored specks of ash that were blown over by the gusts howling inside him.

Vaguely, he realized that it was the same pain he’d felt when Angeal and Vincent had been bantering affectionately while they’d been perched atop him. Some insignificant part of him was happy for his former friend for finally finding someone who could make him happy… who could maybe show him the feeling Sephiroth and he had felt on a long lost afternoon in a balcony hundreds of feet above the plate in a tower of concrete and steel. It was enough to bring more tears to his eyes, but he forced it down, beat the feeling down. He had to learn to push those images away as well, because as effervescent and beautiful they were in his mind’s eye, they were in the past…a past that belonged to individuals that weren’t them. Not anymore. It was agonizing to accept that they couldn’t simply go back to where they had left and start again. It was excruciating to make peace with the fact that they were both so thoroughly and utterly broken that it’d probably take them months, if not years to be able to pick up each other’s pieces and put them back together without cutting one another on them if they were to touch each other. As far as Genesis was concerned, he was simply too raw, too jagged… He could only venture to guess that the indecisive man below him was very much the same, if not worse.

His hold in silver tresses had turned savage somewhat, as though urging the younger man to answer him, as though it would help him make up his mind. And when those pale lips parted, Genesis couldn’t help but dread the verdict that was going to pass them. Because it had the power to make them or break them. Again.

_‘...Okay.’_ The answer echoed off the walls inside his barren oasis, seeming to ring out forever and ever, hollow, meaningless. He couldn’t believe it. Not because he thought Sephiroth was lying, no. But because finally… _finally_ … Maybe they could have a chance at peace. There would be no more fighting… not for others and not against each other… because maybe… just maybe… their lives had a propensity for happiness.

Cradling an alabaster chin surprisingly gently, azure bored into emerald. “What did you say?”

But before the younger man could answer, there was the sound of choppers approaching, still faint, but recognizable. They had to run away, and they had to do it quick-...

…-An animalistic roar, and before the pain of the blow he had received could register in his brain, he was rolling on the dirt and away from Sephiroth. And it felt like a flip was switched inside him, a coin swiveling, a facet of him was pushing through and Genesis snarled, tried to push off the demon to no avail. Distantly, he could hear the noise of the whipping blades of helicopters drawing closer and closer. It was Angeal… Barely dodging, or maybe blocking- _was it the previous hit?_ -his cerulean irises tried to find the silver-haired man as he called. “Sephiroth, run!”

The raven-haired General might be sympathetic with him because he thought he was still the same Genesis who had been his friend, but the redhead knew that the blue-eyed First had no such concerns for a person who was most definitely a war criminal… even if he did, Shinra would never let Angeal hear the end of it, and even if their little reformed regime did, the populace wouldn’t let it go… _Those humans_.

The dead weight pressing him to the ground was suddenly no more, victim to the same fate it had brought upon him, and instead of blows a black-clad hand was reaching for him and helping him up as Sephiroth declared that he wasn’t going to leave him. And _that_ was all that mattered.

As the magnificent plumage of his...- _Partner? Companion? Who cared about labels at the moment anyway?_ -extended forth, Genesis acknowledged consciously for the first time that he hadn’t seen Sephiroth’s wing before today. Another thing shared between the two of them, and he turned to catch those beryl irises with his own as they soared upwards, only to see Angeal slam into Sephiroth; saw him with wide disbelieving azure eyes as the General yanked on the onyx plumage, and when the silver-haired man cried out in pain, Genesis could feel it as his own, could feel the fire shooting up his spine and higher still to burst forth in an equally agonized and enraged howl.

For the briefest of moments, he just watched as the duo descended in front of his irises, hurtling toward the ground and he rushed after them swiftly, but it was already too late…

Pain exploded inside his head, searing but he pushed through it because the agony setting his neurons alight wasn’t his…but he couldn’t focus on that right now, because it was blood trickling down that beautiful mouth… And he wanted to weep because he _had_ wished for it, with a vengeance and now it was happening and Genesis didn’t want it… He _didn’t_ want it.

Landing on the ground, he rushed toward the younger man lying prone and broken at Angeal’s feet. It made him feel so many things at once, but he focused on rage, gritting his teeth as Vincent Valentine twisted his arm behind his back, forced him to watch, and more soldiers were falling from the sky; infantrymen, Seconds, Thirds.

_‘Gen..sis..’_

Glaring over his shoulder at the man behind him, he hissed. “Are you gonna watch him kill your _son?_ ” It took the gunslinger a minute to think about what he was saying, and another minute as he deliberated while Genesis was practically kicking and screaming to free himself while he watched Sephiroth try to rise, ever the survivor-and that was why he loved him… his desire to live, his will never-bending to anything and anyone-only for Angeal to knock him backwards. The redhead couldn’t help but yell then, breaking free and pushing away the men that were watching this mockery with probably joy fluttering in their guts, because it was the villain getting beaten, justice being exacted-...

_Bull.Shit._

By the time he slammed into Angeal, Sephiroth was almost evanescent, bone-deep fatigue etched into those handsome features. The raven-haired First stumbled backwards, but Genesis didn’t care.

“I’m here… I’m here…” He whispered, as soothingly as his breaking voice allowed him as he dropped to the ground beside the green-eyed individual. Cradling a head of molten silver, Genesis pressed his eyes shut, drawing from deep within himself as he focused on the pain and through it, on the remedy; felt the magic rise up within him in a healing wave, bursting forth as he tried to heal the younger man somewhat, to ease the pain until they could receive proper care. _If_ they would be given proper care.

Looking up with anguish and rage burning in azure depths, he summoned Rapier in a trembling hand, paid no heed to the cacophony of guns being cocked, to the swords rising up slightly, poised to attack at the briefest of orders.

Angeal met his eyes with an impassive expression, but those sky-blue irises… they were so easy to read. Incredulity… and _disgust?_

Genesis wanted to scoff. “What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?”

“Ask yourself the same.” The General retorted, not missing a beat. “Do you know what he’s done? Do you-...”

“I don’t care! Le-...”

“He killed Gillian!” Angeal yelled, and his ruby blade nearly fell out of his hand. Surely his former friend was lying. He was trying to drive a wedge between them so they’d be easier to conquer. If the First really thought he’d fall for such easy tricks, he was awfully mistaken.

“You’re lying!” Genesis barked back. “You’re forever lying! You Bastard! How-...”

“He’s not lying.” was an almost inaudible whisper coming from below.

The scarlet-haired soldier couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Because _why would Sephiroth do that?_

In the infinitesimal moment it took for him to look down at the younger man, he couldn’t stop his brain from pulling memory after memory of the things he associated with the kind and warm-hearted woman that could have been very well his mother. But the green-eyed ex-soldier was talking, struggling syllable after syllable, breath after breath. _Cough_ , and the way that lithe body nearly slumped back, went limp before resurfacing nearly made him panic. Briefly, he wondered how Sephiroth had survived when he’d cradled his failing body that day in that cold cold basement, because Genesis was sure he wouldn’t be able to…

“Stop… _just stop…_ ” A calloused hand rose to brush the the side of a deathly pale face, smearing crimson, and his heart was breaking. The redhead didn’t know if it was a lie meant to appease him, or the truth. Right now, he didn’t care. He just… _Please…_ “ _Don’t talk…_ ” He pleaded before looking up at Angeal, the supplicative expression still on his face. A part of him violently thrashed at the idea of showing weakness when it was bound to be exploited, but they had no choice. Genesis couldn’t take Sephiroth away in this state, and he wasn’t going to leave him either. “I love him, Angeal. I love him still. _Please…_ help him, I’d do anything…”

When silence was all that met his words, a head of scarlet hung low. Once, a long time ago, the very same silver-haired man who was now fading in and out of consciousness in his lap had asked the blue-eyed First in front of them if love would be a good enough reason for two starred First Classes to get discharged. Now, Genesis was getting his answer. Apparently it wasn’t enough… not for the newly instated General, at least.

He was starting to believe that there was no getting through to the raven-haired soldier when his former comrade uttered, pleading almost equally as he. “Genesis...there’s nothing good about this...this _monster._ ” As if he was trying to make him see something that the redhead hadn’t already seen. And it was pathetic really.

“It’s so easy for you to label others, isn’t it?” Genesis retorted calmly, but it was the calm before the storm. “Label anything you don’t know, anything that’s strange, that doesn’t fit in…” Fierce cerulean irises looked up. “We didn’t fit in. Remember? Always stronger, always faster, always ahead…” If only he didn’t have a pale head haloed by moonspun tresses in his lap. “If calling him a monster helps your conscience, let me enlighten you then.” And his temper flared. “You’re just as much of a monster as he is! As much of a fucking monster as I am! As _he!_ ” Genesis pointed in Vincent’s general direction among the numerous men who were crowding over them, half rising from where he was sitting on the ground. “If setting fire to an entire instalment, if killing every single soul inside a city is monstrous, we’ve all been monsters since that _fucking_ _war!_ ” It seemed he couldn’t stop the words from flowing. “Is this the pride and honor you son of bitches stand for, letting a man die on a battlefield when you can save him? Is this how far you’ve fallen Angeal? You who never gave up on anyone?”

Genesis was just about to open his mouth to continue with his tirade, when a hand touching his fingers gave him pause.

_‘Beautiful.’_

And that was enough to silence him, enough to make him want to say that Sephiroth was just as beautiful and even more, even with that barely discernible bloodied smile. And Genesis wanted to smile at him, but failed miserably, felt on the verge of shedding more tears again, and he couldn’t… _he just couldn’t_ … Wanted to tell him everything would be alright… but that would be a blatant _lie…_

_‘I_ love _you.’_

Valentine seemed to have finally come to his senses then, the redhead acknowledged, but barely because silver-wreathed eyelids drooped, the faint but distinct sound of liquid bubbling up as a leather-clad chest rose and fell, slowly and then slower… and Genesis was at the same time enraged and fearful… because they could do something else other than stand around and bicker… For once, he wanted to yell at everyone to stop and do something… just do something, _anything…_

Vincent was still pleading with the head of the Shinra army, trying to make him see reason. And for the first time, Genesis thought that if the gunslinger hadn’t just been the worst father ever, he probably would have gotten along with him. There were so many things that the gunman and Sephiroth shared; even their cruelty was similar, and the redhead hadn’t forgotten those empty promises inside Angeal’s wrecked house…

“Enough death, Angeal. Don’t become what you aren’t meant to mete out...don’t forgo what you can save...”

Those words were echoing his own statements, but with less bite probably. And Genesis had the sincere displeasure of watching bitterly as his childhood friend finally folded, watched him look away and motion for the dark-haired gunslinger to do what he needed to do.

Valentine crouched in front of him, their eyes locking for a minute and Genesis just didn’t want to recognize what was inside that gaze, didn’t want to let him take Sephiroth away, but he didn’t seem to have much of a choice. For the first time in a long time dread coiled tight in his belly as a pessimist facet of him was screaming inside that were he to let go, he’d never be able to hold the hand that had been covering his limply again…that he wouldn’t, wouldn’t be able to thread his fingers inside that silverspun hair ever again… The green-eyed soldier garbled something then, and in a flutter of maroon wings and shimmering violet light, father and son were gone, soaring up to the sky only to become a twinkling star soon to disappear out of their sights.

| 

Rationalizing this was _irrational._

He was hallucinating, that much was clear. Colliding with his former lover-former _victim-_ in midair after killing his mother...it was too clean a coincidence. Those eyes...that smirk...it was too perfect. Turning to face him only solidified that concept. Immaculate...if he could really be called that. Down to the slightly longer hair crawling down the back of his neck...the mirage before him was synonymous with what Genesis would look like if he’d simply...disappeared. But he hadn’t disappeared. Genesis had _died,_ and he wouldn't be fooled by the illusion before him. They had done this before, and while he wasn’t exactly expecting Angeal to sink so low as to try it again, he wouldn’t stand by it.

So when the copy of the former Commander punched him in the face, it drew him out of his reverie. Had him clutching Masamune to block the flurry of Firaga’s that hailed towards him. Back, back again and everything in his mind was an insane, coagulated mixture of chaos and torment. He wanted to vomit, wanted to scream, wanted to just _get away._ But he couldn’t let this... _mockery_ run free, couldn’t let it get a foothold in this world. A series of vertical hits and he growled and steadied himself.

_‘Long time no see, my dear monster.’_

“You’re not real.” He growled. There was a moment of faltering, a split-second of confusion and he dove for it, began a series of fast, precise uppercuts before pivoting and disappearing in a swirl of corrupt Lifestream. He re-emerged several feet away, watching with a kind of quiet focus as those blue eyes refocused on him, looked at him slightly more calculatingly than before. The rage he’d kept so carefully under lock bubbled up.

“You think I wouldn’t know what to do this time?!” He roared. “You think that I didn’t _learn my lesson_ when the last clone you tried to fool me with slit his wrists in my bed?! Do you think I didn’t figure out what a copy was when Shinra _tormented_ me with them for nearly a month, locked in my rooms in some of deranged, mocked-up time loop?!” He spat on the snowy soil. “Run back to _Angeal_ and tell him that if he wants to take the road Hojo took, then he’ll meet the same end!”

He fought savagely, because that was the bitter, grievous feeling welling up in his throat. And Sephiroth wanted to weep, because _they_ had done this, his father had done this. And he understood the pain of losing Lucrecia, because he knew what it was like to lose someone-and he _hated_ himself for knowing something like that-losing someone you loved. But this wasn’t retribution, this was torture. He’d have rathered they killed him, rather they slit him open on a gurney and let his lifeblood run out for hours. Anything but this. _Anything but this._ Blocking another swipe, he swallowed his pain...forced it down his throat until it was cold and ugly and heavy in his stomach.

_‘...Ashayam...’_

He nearly dropped Masamune.

Really, he nearly threw down his sword and just told the man before him to kill him. Because it told him everything that something else-something _false-_ couldn’t. It whispered verity in his ears with more force than a blow to the head or a sword to the heart could have. And that humanistic part of him trembled, threatened to split open in the face of the man he had betrayed...had abandoned to nothingness. Had torn to shreds and left battered and incomplete, unexplained and undeserved.

_‘What did I ever do to you?’_

“You left.” He said numbly...still coming to terms with it. Another vicious jab and he very nearly acquiesced to it, let it kill him. Because _finally..._ And he-in that moment-understood what he’d been seeking for so long. He’d been seeking justice...not for Jenova...not for the men who had died under his command...not for his friends...not even for the man before him. Sephiroth had been seeking justice for himself. He wanted it, _needed it._ Wanted to be left ripped open until he was absolved of everything he had done...or at least as close to it as he ever could have been. The darkness in him seemed to falter at that...seemed to grow smaller...seemed to seek to take over but was ultimately rebuffed. “You _left._ ”

This-if anything-seemed to enrage the older man further. They danced across snowy soil, their blades flashing as the rising sun blazed over the tips of the mountaintops. Halfheartedly, Sephiroth forced himself to pivot, to dart away into the Lifestream-if only to collect himself-before reappearing...this time much further away, vaulting into the sky, twisting until they met again, a vortex of noir feathers...of pinions and rage against despair. Genesis soared forward, his face twisted with hatred and hurt...and _beautiful._ The silver-haired ex-first kicked away from it; let his boot catch at the edge of a thigh and let it drive him back to the ground...straight downwards and inwards into the darkness again...reappearing to slide across the icy soil and drop into a crouch; Masamune high over one shoulder.

“You’re not here, you left...I couldn’t follow. I was too dangerous- _am_ too dangerous-not safe for you.” More...the blackness was receding _more,_ and _no-!_...he couldn’t do what he was meant to do without it! “This world,” He snarled raggedly. “Is filled with _filth-!_ ” He cut himself off on ‘filth’ choked as he tried to level himself. “Your thoughts aren’t safe.” Muttered frantically to himself. “Hojo told you your thoughts weren’t safe. Don’t trust them, don’t trust anything you see-!”

-But he could see. He was _here._ He was here, and it was a nightmare and a dream come true, because Genesis could _live._ He could live and maybe...maybe his death would bring him peace. Sephiroth wouldn’t give it to him easily, no. The redhead didn’t deserve that dishonor, and he’d obviously gained some skill. He would take his ‘hero’s death’; not because he deserved it, but because the man before him deserved it.

Sephiroth could see that his his words didn’t have any effect. It didn’t bother him. He didn’t _want_ his words to stay that blade...he wanted his words to inflame it, to bring it forward and slice it across his innards. Death was preferable to this...he didn’t have answers, didn’t have any reassurances. Nothing could make this better, nothing had _ever_ made this better. Not the killing, not the slaughter, not the revenge. Bringing cities to ruin had never brought him any satisfaction...only more rage; more and more and _more_ rage until he was a black, reflectionless pool of nothiness. Until he was a mere shadow of a man...something terrible...something twisted. Something that took over and swallowed him and told him that the evil he was becoming was _perfection._

Masamune flew through the air.

He watched it with a kind of detached satisfaction, because _finally..._ finally...again. It was the first time Genesis had ever disarmed him, and he felt an unutterable sense of pride. The redhead had overcome...he would live…

_‘I’ll kill you with my bare hands!’_

A series of successive, precise moves...not even executed with Rapier...it was hand-to-hand combat that the younger man had no experience in, had never encountered before. Drawing on the faint, fuzzy recollections of combat training he possessed, he blocked the blows as they came...kept his ground as best he could. He was at a disadvantage...he knew it. Strangely, he didn’t really seem to mind it. After all, it was only a matter of time before he was bested. One of the most important mantras a soldier was taught was to never assume there wasn’t anyone better than you. And it was strange to refer to the things he had long ago thought lost in the psyche...but it calmed him and helped him focus. Dodging Rapier was harder, especially without his own blade.

He was forced to draw upon the corrupt Lifestream more and more, but he was tired. This wasn’t the first battle he had fought today, Genesis was fresh. Exhaustedly, Sephiroth realized that this was the last battle he might ever fight. As he flipped backward and brought his arms up in a crosswise position to deflect a blow, he acknowledged that this was a relief. Because enough with pain...enough with death.

“I’m sorry.” He panted, knowing that it would only incite the man further. “It doesn’t repay anything, but I’m sorry. You were there, and I wasn’t. I don’t know where I was...my mind-” He halfheartedly blocked a sideswipe that sent Rapier dragging across his cheek. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt...nothing except his heart. “-I kept slipping away, kept losing myself to darkness...kept having thoughts of killing people...innocent people. I couldn’t go to Hojo, and I couldn’t go with you because I was concerned that I’d have another break and hurt you.” A snarl that was almost a shriek and he rolled with the punch to his jaw. Looking back, he spit blood to the side. “And I did. You’re right. _They’re right._ I’m a monster.”

A howl and he was flying, stars in front of his eyes as his back hit the soil, as his breath exploded out of him. Rapier pressed against his jugular and he shuddered...Staring up at the man above him, at the beautiful perfection of his face...Sephiroth wanted to smile...not because he was laughing, but because he was alive. Genesis was alive. Broken, yes...angry, yes...but alive. He didn’t smile, however...because with his observance came a sadness so great that it threatened to choke him...stole his breath and left a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t overcome.

Quickly, he realized what it was, what it might become if he couldn’t control it. The silver-haired man fought it because he didn’t want his former comrade to have any qualms about killing him...didn’t want him to feel guilt. But staring into those sapphire irises it felt like his heart was melting in his chest, felt like he was dying without a wound...because this was _his fault._ He had done this, he had broken this gorgeous, brilliant individual and brought him down to nothing. And he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the moisture from welling in his eyes, couldn’t stop the hitch of his breath...couldn’t stop the tears that ran over his cheeks...couldn’t stop the way his body seemed to curl in on the first sob; deep, ugly and wrenched from his soul.

“ _Please_ kill me.” He begged, and he hated himself for sounding so weak, covered his face and pressed himself into the heft of the blade. “I’m tired of killing people, of having no _control_ over it! Of always wanting _more death!”_ When Rapier didn’t slice his jugular, he thrashed against it, tried to force himself up into it. “ _Kill me!”_ He half-sobbed half-howled. “ _Genesis,_ fucking kill me, kill me before it comes back! _Please!”_

He didn’t.

As the man before him dropped to his knees...straddling him...he wanted to ask the redhead why he would ever let himself get so physically close to such a filthy, _ruined_ individual like himself. Rapier fell, hit the dust like something worthless, something that was neither important nor valuable to the older man...like _he_ was more valuable. Familiar, _calloused_ fingers wrapped around his throat and he pushed himself into them as they squeezed and then relented.

_‘Look at me damn you.’_

Sephiroth did. Not because he wanted Genesis to understand his pain, but because he wanted him to see exactly what was before him. He wanted him to remember who he was, what he had done, what he was capable of doing. When the grip at this throat tightened again he was relieved, he gave himself to it...because _enough._...But those fingers didn’t tighten anymore than they already had. Instead, those sky-infused irises filled with saline...glassed over as a lower lip became wobbly. And the forehead that dropped to press against his was _burning_ his skin, searing it...because _he did not have this privilege._ This was not his right, he had destroyed it. Warm, stuttered, and agonized breath over his cheeks...a sob and he was fracturing again; thrown into schism as the threat of that mental crepuscule became psychic eos.

And he was _frightened_ of it because he didn’t know it anymore. Didn’t know how to face it without hurting others...without hurting himself. A body draped over him...a hand in his hair and it had been _so long_ since someone had touched him with anything other than hatred, fear, pity, or the need to contain. It wasn’t a loving touch...not exactly, and he refused to take advantage of it even if it was. Because even if Genesis was trying to solidify his reasoning now, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come apart later. They could never go back to the way they once were. The acknowledgement of such a fact was painful...but he made peace with it.

_‘You don’t get it.’_

Truthfully, he didn’t. And not because he didn’t understand the desire to be close to the individual before him, but because he absolutely could not understand why that desire was reciprocated despite everything that was wrong with him. Despite his sins...his grievances...he was _wanted._ He squeezed his eyes shut. But what if he hurt Genesis again? What if he did-did _that,_ again? Neither of them would recover from it, he was sure of that. He had never realized, in all his time as a soldier, as a General, and then as a murderous…. _lunatic…that_ he was so desperately afraid of himself, of what he was capable of. And it wasn’t selfishness, or fear of the redhead being weak, it was the fear that he was going to eventually do something irretrievable...and he didn’t know what could possibly be worse than everything he had _already_ done...but he had long ago learned that there was always something more terrible. There was always a greater darkness.

_‘Come with me…’_

It was so, so tempting. The idea of escape-of _permanent_ escape-Sephiroth wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to be able to surrender to peace, to putting down his sword and living out his life as someone without a face, a publicly renown name, without a badge. He wanted the world to forget that had had ever existed...to go into the unknown with the man before him and act as if life could go on without him. To walk away from everyone who expected something from him, who expected him to be something- _someone-_ that he wasn’t. Turning his back on those who had called him different, who had _hated_ him for being different...for his silence...and then, later, for his savagery. Being an enigma was nothing beautiful, nothing mysterious or ethereal...it was a hollow, empty sensation. It was looking out at the rest of the world and wondering why he didn’t have the tools necessary to blend in...to not be ostentatiously, self-destructively strange.

And Sephiroth couldn’t understand why Genesis would choose him and his difference over everything else that was available to him. He had never understood it. Because the redhead was sociable and artistic in ways he was not. And it was _strange_ to be able to look at his qualities with appreciation instead of grief. To understand that the redhead before him _was_ him...was the embodiment of him in the flesh. At the same time, he acknowledged that such misgivings were what had landed them here in the first place. His fear of being so alien and destructive...his fear of love...his fear of rejection. And there was no denying that he _wanted_ Genesis...that he would always want him. The sad remnants of that bitter part of him scoffed at such weakness. But he had seen love used as strength. He had seen how Angeal and Vincent operated under the parameters of affection based on a mutual love...a love that wasn’t bound by self-hate...by fear of abandonment. And while he had no great love for either man anymore, he still desired what they had in each other.

He wanted that.

It took him a while to recover himself. Thinking back on it, he didn’t really know why...only that he was shaken apart and it seemed to take much longer to put himself back together. The green-eyed man also knew he wanted to make the right choice this time, regardless of whether it benefited him. As soon as he realized this, he realized that he only wanted what Genesis wanted...and in that effect, he had already made his choice. And he didn’t have a right to question the former Commander, because he had taken unforgivably, without question. Sephiroth had questioned the older man’s logic before, and he usually found that it was at his peril. He didn’t have any sense of self-preservation left, no…hope, maybe...but he didn’t know if he deserved hope…but he couldn’t keep questioning it either. When he spoke, his voice was ragged...weary and hoarse, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“...Okay.”

He felt the way Genesis stiffened... _ached_ to touch him, but he didn’t. He couldn’t touch him, didn’t know if it would trigger something or break everything of whatever the redhead was trying to rebuild...recreate. Sephiroth was no psychologist, but he knew about PTSD, knew he was probably the furthest thing from what a licensed medical professional would recommend for someone who had suffered from sexual assault. He wanted to touch, but he needed permission to touch, and even then he didn’t know if the redhead knew his limits...didn’t know what was too far and what wasn’t. So he simply lay there after his declaration, still and yet shuddering with a cold that seemed to come from inside and not outside.

And then those hands came to him again, cradled his chin reverently... _carefully_ and he felt his lips part, felt his eyelids lower as the warmth of the gesture flooded him. It was more difficult still not to reach out, not to take the face before him and frame it between his fingers. He _wanted_ to-!

-Genesis was knocked away.

Specifically, Chaos knocked Genesis away. The former General watched with a kind of dazed incredulity as his father bowled into the redhead and sent him flying. There was the sound of multiple helicopters from far away, approaching swiftly. Sephiroth scrambled to his feet, called Masamune to him even as the blue-eyed ex-First yelled for him to run. Watching as the older man was pummeled by a demon from the abyss, he refused to do that. Instead, he pressed his lips into a thin line and charged forward...knocked Chaos to the side...catching him by surprise. The abomination rolled over and over, even as he lunged forward to try to help Genesis up...ignoring his adversary in favor of his... _former comrade?_ It didn’t matter what they were right now, it just mattered that they had to _go._

“I’m not leaving you.” he muttered, hauling the scarlet-haired man up.

Normally, he’d have disappeared into the corrupt Lifestream by now...teleported himself miles away to recover. He was hurting from his battle with Angeal and Vincent, hurting from his battle with Genesis...there was only so much he could do at this point. Letting his wing burst forth he watched as the blue-eyed man took his cue from him...vaulting into the sky in a flurry of silver and scarlet...upwards into the the new light of the day...breathless and desperate. And maybe, _just maybe_ they could escape in time...could go on to...whatever it was they wanted between them.

Something slammed into him.

It took Sephiroth a moment to realize that it was Angeal; that he must have jumped from the adjacent chopper to catch him almost fifteen feet up in the air. The dark-haired First caught the sensitive underside of his wing; yanked it out until it felt like _fire_ down his spine and he heard himself cry out...heard Genesis cry out in response. The air rushed past them and he couldn’t bring himself to look at the newly-instated General...merely tried to force himself to struggle, to get away. And the only thing that was going through his mind was _‘No, I can’t...I can’t...not again’_ but there would be no reprieve from this...of that he was sure. He would face retribution, and he would face death. Because he couldn’t fight if it risked Genesis’ life...and it would.

It felt like the thousandth time that day that he was hitting some type of soil. This was quickly followed by a rough, precise jab to his temple with something blunt. His head and his body weren’t fully healed from the previous impacts, and that bright, searing light exploded in the back of his skull again. At the same time, he acknowledged that the jarring **_*crack*_** he’d heard upon impact was a bad sign as well...felt his eyes widen as one of his lungs was abruptly useless, as blood welled in his throat to spill over his lips. The pain in the rear of his head spread forward until it became agonizingly intense, until he felt himself convulse somewhat and Angeal backed away a little bit...but he couldn’t concentrate on his face...could only concentrate on the pain.

“Gen..sis..” He gasped.

“You won’t touch him” Angeal spat harshly. “You don’t go _near_ him!”

Sephiroth shook his head...felt the hemoglobin staining his mouth...trickling out of the the edge of his lips to drip backwards and creep into his hair...felt his face screw up in agony.

“D-don’t hurt-” He wheezed and faltered. _“Please_ don’t hurt him…’ll go…’ll go jus-don’t-”

He was tired. He was _so tired._ Fighting wasn’t an option for him anymore. Despite this...he tried...tried to lever himself up...grasped Masamune only to be knocked backwards...only to groan as the world seemed to spin before his eyes. Sephiroth was resilient...but he wasn’t immortal. Dimly, he tried to crawl and the results were much the same...slightly more violent this time and he supposed he deserved it. This time...he couldn’t get up...couldn’t move...could only lay there and gaze blankly at the cold...snow-covered ground as his breathing grew ever more labored. Maybe this was enough...and it was fitting. To have what he’d so desired offered to him only to have it ripped away. He deserved it...that much was certain.  _  
_

He could hear Genesis yelling in the background, and the silver-haired ex-soldier wanted to laugh...just a little bit. Because he had _missed_ that fire. It gave him fire...gave him the ability to push forward...time and time again. But this time, he couldn’t. This time he didn’t have the energy to. Darkness was webbing inwards, stretching its tendrils into his soul...and he was _cold..._ afraid. Because he’d been in the Lifestream before, he knew what was waiting for him. Sephiroth didn’t want to be pulled into Gaia’s embrace only to be rent in two again...he didn’t want to have to die and be reborn...again and again. That was agony, that was torture. It was the only reason he was still reluctant to die. Why would he want to die when he was just going to be reborn as more of a monster than he already was?

The idea was enough to make him want to weep all over again. Vaguely, he was cognizant of the fact that the group of men was still arguing, that Genesis was becoming more and more agitated.

_“He killed Gillian!’_

Ah, so that was the angle Hewley was going to take. He should have seen it coming. Even as the redhead shrieked his denial of such a truth, the silver-haired ex-General knew he couldn’t keep it from him. It wouldn’t be fair...not after all this...there wouldn’t be any more lies between them.

“He’s not lying.” He whispered.

The entirety of the group grew silent. Sephiroth could feel Genesis’ shock...almost as if it was resonant in his own soul. He could also feel Angeal’s confusion at his admittance, at the fact that he had caved so easily.

“N-not lying.” He gasped, convulsed as the pain grew stronger. “W-wanted to” His breath hissed through his teeth, accompanied by the bubble of blood. “I couldn’t...she invited me in... _t-talked_ to me. Then s-she tried to get me to turn myself in.” He coughed and nearly blacked out. “I wouldn’t-s’she was going to c-call you. Tried to restrain her...she fell…” This time he focused on Angeal, whose eyes were cold as steel and clearly not believing. “M’sorry.”

He _was_ sorry. Because Gillian had shown him kindness...had welcomed him inside her home and kissed his cheek. At the time, he’d resented it, because it brought out that weak...humanistic part of him that wanted more of that affection...wanted more and more and _more_ because of how long it had been since he’d felt it before. So he’d let her lead him to the table, let her sit him down and take his hands as she had so, so long ago. Let Angeal’s mother touch him, cup his face and look into his eyes with so much love that he had nearly broken from it. ...And he had repaid that kindness with death. Watching her fall, understanding that she wasn’t going to get up again...it was a surreal experience. The amount of guilt that had crashed down upon him once he realized she was dead was so overwhelming he’d nearly ended himself right then and there. Because if there was _one_ person left in the world who didn’t deserve his rage...it was her.

It had taken everything he had to put up his mask for the subsequent battle. Every facet of his being was infused with a kind of dazed and horrified grief. Sephiroth supposed that that was what had made it so easy for them to subdue him...the fact that he’d _wanted_ to be subdued. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t been able to kill Angeal when he’d left himself open, because even after everything that he’d done...he was still reluctant to kill that which had shown him kindness, honor, and mercy. Genesis was begging for his life, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t deserve life, wouldn’t have wanted it if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d only return. The younger man could-vaguely-sense that the redhead was tense...that there was still quite a bit of anger directed at him despite his supplications. He understood that the redhead was reigning in his perspective to save his life...he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Genesis...there is nothing good about this...this _monster.”_

That was a mistake.

Almost immediately, the redhead was shrieking again, yelling obscenities about how if Sephiroth was a monster they _all_ were monsters. And how _dare_ they let a man die who could obviously be saved if given enough time? It was enough to make him smile, just the slightest bit. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he lifted his hand to cover the one that was touching his cheek...let middle and index stroke over the inward curve of a palm… And he knew he was breaking some sort of unspoken rule...but he _had_ to...because this might be the last chance he ever got. Genesis faltered...seemed to notice he was looking at him.

“Beautiful.” He slurred as darkness tugged at him. “You’re s-so _beautiful.”_ At this, the grief that he’d held at bay for the sake of his pride threatened to swallow him again. “Sorry.” He mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” The next words seemed to wrench themselves from his soul. “L-love you...Gen...I _love_ you.”

_“Enough.”_

Valentine’s voice was so hard it could have cut diamond. There was the **_*chink*_** of plated boots, of the approach of his father. Sephiroth couldn’t see him anymore...he was too weak...his eyelids refused to obey him as they shivered shut...as it became increasingly harder to breathe. There was a pause, and he was aware that the hand beneath him was trembling...just slightly...though if it was in rage or in grief...or fear...he didn’t know. Silence...and it was tangible, held on the wings of bated breath.

“Angeal…”

Supplicative, pleading...broken. The gunslinger’s voice confused him because it was filled to the brim with sadness, with the suggestion that the ex-Turk wanted him to live. He’d just killed his _mother,_ why would he want him to live?

“Vincent, please.”

The General’s voice was heavy with exhaustion, honest in a way it hadn’t been with him. Sephiroth supposed that they must have been looking at each other as they had been before...on the rooftop. That sort of silent, active communication that seemed unique only to them.

“Enough death, Angeal. Don’t become what you aren’t meant to mete out...don’t forgo what you can save...”

...He couldn’t concentrate anymore...the world was slipping away into a sea of green. Vaguely, he was aware of someone calling him...of himself being lifted...of the sense of being somewhere he had never been before, that was still somehow familiar. Pressed against a chest that wasn’t his lover’s but was still familial, still quiet and serene. Someone was tugging at the hand he’d left over Genesis’...as if trying to remain attached but not being allowed to do so.

“Gen…s’okay” he garbled.

Upwards...air rushing over him, the sense of endless depth...green light and then warmth spreading through his body. For some reason, he was given the impression that this time...he might truly find peace.

Darkness took him.  
  
Sitting as he had been, Genesis felt defeated. Because he already knew what was coming, but couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Where are you taking him?”

“Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?” Angeal hissed irritatedly. “He’s the one…” The younger man paused only to trail off instead. There was no need for him to continue anyway when the scarlet-haired ex-First knew the tale he was going to tell.

“That’s between me and him. Stay out of it.” The redhead uttered sternly but in a low voice, not raising his head, staring unseeingly at the blood on his fingertips. It felt like he was some child caught red handed, and now had to explain to his parents why he’d done such a thing. It left an acrid taste in his mouth in the wake of his words, but he pushed the bitterness down, tried yet again even though he knew that it would be an exercise in futility. “Where are you taking him?”

“It’s none of your concern.” And this time, he did look up; because the man standing in front of him didn’t even sound like his childhood friend anymore. Something was wrong with Angeal, that much was certain, and some small part of him buried under layer after layer of hate felt incredibly saddened to see how Zack’s and then Gillian’s death had affected the dark-haired First; to see that in the end, none of them had actually survived the calamity of their origins unscathed. That it had indeed left all three of them broken beyond repair, torn apart from the inside out and from one another.

_The infinite mystery, the gift of the goddess, is what the three men seek,_

_But their fates are scattered by war,_

_One is taken captured,_

_One flies away,_

_And the last becomes a hero…_

And their world… And their world was burning, the bridges once connecting them lay in shambles, nonexistent, reduced to nothing but cinders. There was no oath, nothing that connected them anymore.

“You’re never to see him again.” was the curt order, and those sky blue eyes were watching his as the General of the Shinra army’s voice rang out, unfeeling and cold; an ultimatum. It was a  battle of wills then as the wall of silence between them thickened, rife with tension. Sky blue locked to azure, and it was after all Angeal’s voice that first rang out through the quiet that had fallen. “Choose your next words wisely Genesis. Because I won’t be able to help-...”

Who needed words when you could snarl? When you could rush forward and break everything even further? Beyond recognition? Pour gasoline over the smoldering remains of their friendship and set it on fire anew? But the dark-haired First had already anticipated his move-because _hey, that was just how much they knew each other_. Abruptly he was tackled to the ground by bystanding soldiers, more and more men holding him down as Genesis snarled and thrashed; raising his head marginally to stare vengefully at the back of a retreating Soldier First Class.

And he wanted to deny how it felt like abandonment. How it felt like finally, _finally…_ he had done something that Angeal wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye to, that the younger man was _thoroughly_ and _utterly_ fed up with him and his behavior. And while that little voice inside him shrieked for Angeal to come back, shriveled at the idea that he wouldn’t, not anymore, the scarlet-haired soldier was actually okay. Or that’s what he told himself.

In reality, he wasn’t.

He’d been forced to choose between his lifelong friend and the only person who understood him for who he really was. And while it might have appeared to his former comrade that he had chosen the highway, he hadn’t really chosen at all; he hadn’t been _given a choice._

But Angeal had already turned his back on him, was already leaving him behind, and he couldn’t follow, couldn’t explain-...

…-Pain exploded at the back of his head.

Darkness. Intermittent.

Blurred images.

Fading in and out.

Chopped off noises and sounds.

More darkness.

And the next time he was fully cognizant, Genesis was in the middle of a white-washed cell, almost too bright for his eyes as they stared at some nondescript point in front of him, emotionless.

Standing.

There was no way out. No doors, no windows, nothing. A shower with nothing to separate it from the rest of the room, a toilet, a small cot with a thin blanket. Everything was padded heavily so there were no sharp corners, nothing blunt to kill himself with. There was a tiny dot on the wall, which was presumably a microphone, and a handle below it; probably where they’d give him his meals; too small for him to try and break free through it. Over his head, the ceiling was too high, and sure he could leap up at it, but it would be futile. It was probably made of several feet of reinforced steel and concrete.

The whole situation was ridiculous.

An equally nondescript jumpsuit, and a brand of captivity, _of servitude_ encircling his ankle.

They wouldn’t be able to contain him. They couldn’t.

Smirking murderously, he called Rapier.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

For once in what appeared to be a really long time, Shinra was finally at peace. It was a relative sort of quietude compared to the three weeks ago when all the personnel had to be present at base 24/7.

Angeal wandered through the empty corridors like a phantom, aimless.

Instead of focusing his thoughts within, he’d been trying his damnedest to direct them on without.

Sephiroth and Genesis had been sentenced to confinement for life. Both of them were formidable warriors, and judging by what he’d seen in the outskirts of Nibelheim, it seemed that they had, somehow, put their differences aside and were now a team; incongruous, but a tandem nonetheless. The silver-haired man alone had been taxing and nigh impossible to deal with, coupled with this new version of his redheaded friend, they could bring the world to the brink of destruction within a week.

They had dispatched a company of Seconds and Thirds down the hole the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER had made in the Exhibition Room, and lower still into Deepground, or what remained of it. It had been horrible. Everything had been burned…from bodies to anything that could catch fire. It was mostly rubble, dilapidated houses except for the facility surrounding Mako Reactor Zero. Angeal hadn’t been there, but he’d read the reports, seen the apocalyptic image of what was left of Deepground, the number of casualties Genesis had left in his wake, the extent of his destruction. More and more, he’d been convinced that his decision to put his childhood friend behind bars, or in reality, in a cube of steel and cement, had been the right choice.

They had done the same with Sephiroth, though after an extensive session inside a surgery room at one of Hollander’s facilities around Midgar. A small part of him had been glad that they hadn’t gotten rid of the scientist after capturing him back at Junon. He was the only one left who had been directly involved with the Jenova project. Putting the silver-haired ex-First’s life in those chubby hands that must’ve been quivering with fear hadn’t seemed the most logical choice at first, but when Angeal had proposed to him that it could be a step toward his freedom, toward repenting for his sins, the professor had gotten to work along with a team of lab assistants. Or so he’d heard. He had been on his way to the base in Junon, speaking those words through the receiver after Vincent had put Hollander on the phone. Genesis had been lying on the seat in front him in the helicopter then, knocked out cold.

It hadn’t taken them long to reach the remains of the harbor. Based on the files they had found in the archives, there was a tunnel in upper Junon that led to a set of elevators that brought them down to the underwater facility. Arriving at the site which was marked by WRO encampments, Angeal had found recruits going to and fro, possibly preparing everything for their arrival. The head of the reconstruction team had accompanied him to the sublevels, infrastructure surrounding them all the way as they’d made their descent while the man in charge had informed him of the progress of restoring the lifts since they had been nonfunctional due to Sephiroth’s attack.

What had met his eyes when they’d arrived at their destination was absolutely fascinating.

Winding corridors that were made of some sort of reinforced glass that could withstand the pressure at the ocean floor. The lights at the base of the metal archways illuminated the path ahead of them, and the surrounding marine life. For a moment, Angeal had wanted to stop in their tracks, to approach the presumably thick translucent walls, splay his hands on the cool surface and watch. Housed at the floor of the deep, there were various forms of corals, colorful and picturesque, surrounded by equally vibrant fish and nautilidae that disappeared and played among the sea anemones. Passing these by, they’d arrived at a crossroads of sorts, separating the east wing of the facility from the west, and in the center it arrived to the mako reactor that supplied electricity to the underwater station and to the now nonexistent Junon.

Genesis’ permanent quarters were housed on the east wing, while Sephiroth’s were on the west, as far away from each other as it was logistically possible. Standing around while the few lab assistants that had been stationed there worked on making sure his redheaded friend was okay had been hard; to watch as they stripped him bare, clothed him in a pale gray garb, placed a non-detachable ring that monitored his conditions around his ankle before laying him on the cot. Bricking up the entrance and coating it with cement and then reinforcing it with about six feet of steel and concrete had been even harder to watch. No windows, no doors, just a tiny camera imbedded in the ceiling among the tiny bores that ensured air circulation and probably could be used to administer anesthetic aerosols were the scarlet-haired man to become violent. There was also a microphone that those on the outside could use to speak to the ex-First whenever needed, and a box for transferring meals, clothes and basic amenities.

Suddenly feeling suffocated, Angeal hadn’t been able to stand around any longer. He could only imagine how much harder it’d have been for Vincent to watch the very same things happen to his son.

Shaking his head to dispel his thoughts, and running a hand through long onyx locks, the blue-eyed General found himself standing in the most unlikely of places. It was the Third-Class housing level.

He hadn’t seen Vincent at all.

Partly, he had been avoiding and dreading their encounter. Also, he’d been inundating himself in work… trying to find the best and most capable Firsts so he could recommend them for leading the army. Because the idea of retiring had been becoming more and more attractive with each passing day. There was also a bone-deep weariness that didn’t seem to want to go away, that had been piling up on him since his return to the headquarters.

The First didn’t know if it had something to do with the wall he had slammed down on his feelings when he had decided to fight Sephiroth in Banora. The same wall that still stood rooted in its place, but was slowly cracking, and the raven-haired man was afraid… He’d been in a state of apathy and didn’t know what would happen when all those emotions would come crashing down at him… First, it had been Zack, soon followed by Gillian and now Genesis… Even though the redhead was alive, he was dead to the world, and he was so different from the lively boy he had befriended in Banora… Angeal didn’t know if he could accept so many deaths, so many losses in one setting. More importantly, he didn’t want the gunslinger to deal with the devastation that was surely going to follow. He didn’t want it to be Vincent who had to pick up his pieces… it wouldn’t be fair.

And yet, he couldn’t seem to be able to get his feet to turn around and take him the other way.

He had missed the gunman. Terribly. He had missed being close to him; the feeling of peace that washed over his consciousness whenever the older man was near. He had missed his affectionate deep voice and those vivid ruby eyes.

They had a lot to talk about, and even after they did, Angeal wasn’t sure if he’d have the permission to ask for intimacy… not after his behavior in Nibelheim. But he couldn’t keep going like this. It wasn’t like him, and it was probably harming their relationship more than the sable-haired soldier was willing to admit. They needed to work through this together, or at least attempt to resolve it and then decide what they wanted to do with each other.

Resolutely putting one booted foot ahead of another, he arrived at the familiar door of the older man’s apartment, raising a hand to knock before hesitation could win over him. It took a couple of moments before there was the faint sound of feet padding across the floor as the occupant of the room drew closer, a lock disengaging, and the door opened marginally. Angeal didn’t look up from the spot he was gazing at on the ground, didn’t say anything as he felt the weight of that crimson gaze against him. It seemed to him that the query of ‘May I come in?’ needed more courage that he had predicted at the beginning of his course of action. Thankfully, Vincent seemed to take it as his cue. Wordlessly, he stepped back and opened the entryway further, and the younger man was forced to look up as he watched the dark-haired gunslinger jerk his head in a kind of nonverbal acquiescence.

Dressed in soft, red, long-sleeved sweater…Angeal didn’t think he’d ever seen the ex-Turk clothed so casually before. The tips of a collared shirt were just peeking out from beneath the knit of the zippered v-neck. This was accentuated by loose khaki-colored cargo pants...the tips of black-socked feet peeking out just beneath the hem. That river of onyx hair was headband free, and for a moment...the General missed it. Without the leather, the buckles and straps, the formidable firearms and the partially-obscured visage...Vincent looked ridiculously young. He knew better, of course. Watching as the crimson-eyed man swept away to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but wish that he’d bothered to come sooner. Just being around his partner was enough to bring him at least some sense of stable peace...of warmth and acceptance. There was the sound of the sink being run, of dishes being stacked, and he supposed he must have caught him in the middle of cleaning up. The soft hiss of the faucet ceased after a minute or two, and the gunslinger returned not long after...wiping his hands on a dishtowel before throwing it onto the kitchen counter.

This he then leaned on...almost wearily as they observed each other...as if memorizing the details of the opposite visage. Letting his gaze travel elsewhere, Angeal noted that the greenery he had left was still in optimum condition. If he were being entirely honest...they looked almost better than some of his did at the moment. Days out in the field and attending to company matters had forced him to put his precious plants to the wayside. There were a few in his apartment that were looking rather droopy. Otherwise, the efficiency remained very much the same. The black leather couch in front of the TV still unfolded to make room for the futon within it...the carpeted flooring was just on the jarring edge of orange...and the clock in the hall was still five minutes too fast for his liking. Vincent-he knew-had had no major tasks set to him during their return, though he had been out once...to the reactor. In truth, the only reason the former Commander knew this was due to surveillance. Tseng had informed him that the scarlet-eyed ex-Turk had spent several hours at the reactor visiting both their high-security prisoners. What they spoke about, he couldn’t say. Only that neither of his former fellow Firsts had been particularly happy to see Vincent, but they were grudgingly accepting.

“Would you like to sit down?” Angeal startled somewhat, yanked from his thoughts as a gold-plated hand gestured to the sofa. Vincent was eternally patient, his visage unreadable but his eyes soft as he watched him clear his throat and then do as he was bid. As he sat, his eyes strayed to the left...to a picture that was sitting just at the edge of the coffee table. It wasn’t anything to exactly write home about...but it was telling. And Angeal had _no idea_ where he could have possibly gotten such a photo, but it made him want to jump up and run out of the room. Seated on the back of a nondescript pickup truck covered in hay and laughing at nothing he could fathom, were Sephiroth and Genesis. Genesis had one arm wrapped around the silver-haired man’s shoulders, and the green-eyed ex-First had one leg slung over a black leather-clad thigh; a noir-gloved hand braced just beside it as he leaned forward...his head just above that familiar chest, a grin spread across his face as those emerald irises danced with mirth. The redhead in turn was equally receptive, with his chin tilted just-so; towards the younger man, a hand tangled in his hair as he flashed a pearly white...laughing smile at the camera.

It was a testament to what he’d missed...to what he’d idealistically rejected. It stung...quite a bit more than he wanted to admit. But Angeal knew that things were this way for the sake of public safety. He couldn’t let himself be compromised by a single photograph.

“I got it from Veld.” When a response was not forthcoming, Vincent continued. “He said Tseng picked it up in the hallway in Administration, he was going to destroy it...but he thought someone might want it…” The ebon-haired man sat down next to him. “...He was right.”

His fingers were itching to take that photo, and finally, he did, feeling like he was holding a nightmare in front of his visage and trying to face it head on instead of running away. Unable to resist the downturn of his lips as a gloved finger traced the contours the figures of his former comrades made against the glossy paper, Angeal could still remember the fuss Genesis had made after they had returned from their ‘vacation’ and their subsequent semi-fall out inside the older man’s balcony. Rambling inside his office while lounging in one of the chairs that was the redhead’s without question-he had laid claim to it over the years, not letting anyone sit there when they’d got together inside each other’s offices-the blue-eyed former soldier had been talking about wanting to buy a camera. At that time, the General hadn’t known what it was for, but that day, after delivering the package and watching Sephiroth crumble inside the hallway after their meeting, he’d understood why. He didn’t know what befell those photographs afterwards, but now, he just wished, among the many other impossible wishes that had been cluttering his heart, that he hadn’t delivered it to the silver-haired ex-First at all.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he put the frame back, sighing before looking down between his boots, feeling slightly worse for wear after his mental impasse and still ashamed of himself for forcing this hiatus in their relationship. “How were they?” He blurted out slowly and at length, taking off the leather encasing his digits before wringing them in his hands.

Crimson eyes darted from the frame to his visage; remained there...as if gauging the sincerity of his query. Angeal realized-in that moment-that Vincent wasn't entirely sure if he was only asking after both men out of genuine curiosity, or if he was including Sephiroth out of courtesy. Regardless...the older man responded as if he suspected no such thing.

“They're both unhappy.” He said flatly, looking away. “Genesis is doing better than Sephiroth...for now. But Sephiroth has far more experience with confinement...so I think it's harder for him to readjust.” The scarlet-eyed man closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t-I don’t really know how else to describe it...without making it sound terrible. They’re both incredibly strong individuals that were brought down to being something weak...something they weren’t.” Vincent clenched his organic hand, opened it again and stared at the splayed palm. “My father…” He began, then cleared his throat. “He taught me that when people with great power make mistakes, the consequences of their mistakes are often larger...more horrific...but they’re still mistakes.” A pause. “When I went to see them, I tried to keep that in mind...tried to remember that a normal citizen couldn’t have done half as much damage...not necessarily because of intent...but because of how they were born.” When Angeal opened his mouth he raised a hand. “I’m not saying they should be let go, just that...a different perspective doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Sephiroth killed Lucrecia.” was the whispered continuation. “That hurts, but I think that in order to do that, he had to have been in a lot of pain. And he didn’t know her beyond what he was told, he had no maternal connection to her like a normal human would. Even before he lost his temper, I could tell that while she was receptive he was...festering. Every word she spoke was like a sword into an old wound. I should have stopped her, but I wanted it to work as much as she did.” The older man exhaled shakily. “And it did.” Vincent was silent before pushing onwards, and when he did, his voice was rough. “Genesis’ situation is different...but cohesive. He was forced into a situation where he had very little control but a lot of power. You can’t keep that balance very long, especially when you’re continuously tortured...mentally and physically. Neither of them are ever going to be the same, but I think you know that. Both of them asked after the other, nothing surprising there either.” He laughed hollowly. “If I didn’t think they’d find a way out, I’d suggest confining them together...but that would be...counterproductive.” Those thin lips curled wryly. “Plus we couldn’t...threaten them with each other if we did.”

For a while all was silent, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Angeal was trying to see things through those beautiful red eyes, but he couldn’t simply understand how the older man could be so forgiving. It probably had to do something with his paternal feelings; Sephiroth was his long lost son of course. He’d only gotten the chance to speak with him twice without the silver-haired man wanting to murder the gunslinger. He’d only been able to hold him twice, both times, the younger ex-First was unconscious and potentially on the brink of death.

The dark-haired General had wanted, desperately so, to believe that at least the redheaded teenager who had come to Midgar with him could be saved, salvaged from underneath all the hate and the anger, but that too had proven to be a fool’s hope. Angeal was at a loss… so he decided to ask.

“How can you forgive them so easily?” Onyx brows were furrowed as he turned to look at his partner, placing a hand on the soft fabric of Vincent’s khaki pants as the marksman opened his mouth, possibly to object, but the blue-eyed soldier continued. “If not forgive, how can you…” A left hand balled into a loose fist, his face twisting in anguish as he tried not to trip over his words and thoughts. “Sephiroth killed Zack, he killed Gillian, and Lucrecia as well. These are _our_ loved ones… only the people we knew… think about all those families he’s destroyed, all those children… and I’m not saying Genesis is any better. There were children in Deepground as well… and although Genesis might have done it unknowingly, he’d been the one behind it nonetheless.” Angeal looked away. “They were my friends, my comrades for almost a decade, but what they have turned into is something unrecognizable, unsalvageable… even if I want to see them get better, to see them turn back into the individuals they had been, even desperately so, I know it’d be impossible.”

And it might be rationalizing, but Angeal couldn’t think of anything better. “They’re better off where they are now. They’re safe, and the world is safe from their harm as well. Imagine what would happen if people found out we’d let them go, or if they found out that they were out there somewhere… if Sephiroth was out there. And who knows what they’d do to each other if they were together. I’d rather not risk having their bouts of madness strike at the same time, and while they’re together. They could tear each other to pieces.”

Almost immediately as those words had left his mouth, he was up, the older man nearly jumping in his seat from the abruptness of his movement. Just as quickly, he settled at the foot of the couch between Vincent’s shins and cradling his hands in his. Angeal could sense the gunslinger was definitely taken aback but the General was evidently losing his mind. Pressing his forehead to a cool prosthetic thumb and a warm soft one, the blue-eyed First could hear the tell-tale crash of the wall inside his head. “Vincent…” He pleaded, not continuing, unsure of what to ask, what to say. The lump in his throat was nearly choking him.

Blue eyes watched as the slender fingers of the organic hand prised themselves loose to cup his cheek. It was the first truly connective touch they'd exchanged in a long time...and Angeal leaned into it... leaned into the distraction. When his partner moved forward, that dark hair curtaining him as the hand traveled to grasp his chin...to draw him forward until they were cheek-to-cheek...he exhaled roughly, closed his eyes.

“Listen to me.” Vincent murmured. “Forgiving someone doesn't mean condoning their actions... it’s not diminishing the gravity of their deeds. It's letting go of something terrible because it's hurting _you.”_ The gold-plated prosthetic lifted, pressed against his chest. “ _They_ will always be here, in your heart. Your mother, Zack... they're there. So are the two men you once knew...Genesis Rhapsodos, Commander, First Class... Sephiroth, General, First Class. Don't make them share that space with your anger, with your hate.” Crimson eyes were soft with affection as the older man drew back. “I think you’re mistaking my forgiveness as forgetfulness... that's not it at all. I love you Angeal, but if I'm always angry, always bitter...I can't give that love to you like you deserve.” A kiss at the creases of his lips...gentle...fleeting. “And you _do_ deserve it.” Warm, dry lips against his temple and he shivered for it. “ _Letting go isn't forgetting..._ it's just letting yourself live. And I know that it may take time, but I'm here...when you're ready...and I'm here when you're not.”

Covering the older man’s hand against his chest with his own, Angeal looked up into those vivid rouge eyes, thinking how it was possible that the individual sitting in front of him knew what words to say to make him feel better… And he hadn’t even had the chance to appreciate Vincent’s declaration of love…a hectic night in some room in Recovery...and he’d been nothing but bitter words...nothing but the anger the marksman was talking about. And the crimson-eyed ex-Turk was right…

Taking the gunslinger’s hand on his chin, he drew it up and placed an equally fleeting kiss in the center of its palm, closing his eyes as it moved to cradle his cheek, the acoustic of those fingers rubbing over his stubble like soft sandpaper, and it was as though his heart was going to overflow with the feelings he had bottled up for so long. “I miss them, Vincent… I miss every single one of them… I miss them and I don’t know what to do with all these memories, with the pain, with their loss and absence…” An intermission that was at the same time too short and too long. “I miss the man I used to be…and I miss you…” His hand followed the older man’s organic arm, trailing up as he rose to his knees and drew Vincent close, felt him shift and move forward in his seat to close the distance between them as Angeal hid his face in the crook of a pale neck. As he breathed him in, the blue-eyed First thought about their first time together, of the scent of evergreen, of a striking figure standing over a balcony beckoning him to come; of acceptance and sharing.

Leaving his post on the gold plated fingers pressed against his chest, his other arm snaked around the man’s torso, fingers digging slightly as though he couldn’t have enough of their embrace. ‘Let go.’ Vincent had said, and Angeal couldn’t, _couldn’t_ do the older man the dishonor of asking him to be the anchor to keep him afloat… He loved the crimson-eyed ex-Turk, but if he let go right now, he would be betraying their love. But then that same velvety voice had whispered that he’d be there, whenever he was ready and whenever he was not, and that was all that mattered. That was what made him love the gunslinger even more.

“I love you.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the soft epidermis as he kissed the strong column of the man’s throat. “I’m sorry.” Another fleeting kiss slightly further up. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been a better man… for forcing everything on you while all you’ve been is understanding…” Angeal faltered, a whimper passing his lips as he pressed his brow to a broad shoulder. The hand that had been carding through his hair settled against the nape of his neck, the gesture somehow reassuring, and the shiver that ran down his spine was involuntary.

“You don’t have to apologize for having emotions.” Vincent muttered, seemingly a little bit overwhelmed. The hand at the blue-eyed First’s neck quivered somewhat as that head of dark hair echoed his movement...pillowing itself on the younger man’s shoulder. “And we haven’t had the time to discuss this, you’ve been busy.” There was a soft, indulgent chuckle. “And really, I could have approached you, I think both of us just needed time. Though maybe I shouldn’t have given you so _much_ time.” Angeal felt the shoulder beneath him shrug. “I think pain can change who we are, but I also think it can make us stronger. It’s...extremely difficult to translate that...that agony into something positive...but I know if anyone can do it, you can.” There was an exhalation of breath, the sense of space between them as the ex-Turk retreated somewhat...leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms. “I’m not any good at this.” He muttered. Following him, the blue-eyed Commander placed both his hands on black-clad knees as Vincent waved idly. “I know I’m about as cheerful as a funeral but I think...I _hope..._ it helps.”

Seeming to realize the abrupt ingress of space between them, the crimson-eyed gunslinger paused and then leaned forward again, ‘till their noses were nearly brushing. Warm breath brushed over Angeal’s face as scarlet irises bled into sapphire...as the intricacies of each onyx lash became apparent. Vincent’s head tilted to the side somewhat, pupils sweeping from side to side as if memorizing what was before him. It was something he did quite a lot, the former Commander realized. His partner was notorious for long, drawn-out pauses in which he seemed to drink in everything around him as if it was the most fascinating thing on earth. With a gentle rush of affection, the dark-haired First realized that nothing he looked at garnered such careful study save for him. Vincent looked at him like he was something to be cherished...something rare and precious that no amount of consideration could diminish. He let him do it, because-in a way-he knew it was the older man’s version of expressing love...of assuring him of his worth. It startled him somewhat when a familiar palm cupped his cheek, but he leaned into it anyway…’till their lips were but inches apart.

“I miss you too.” was the murmured, slightly ragged exhalation.

Angeal couldn’t stop the tiniest of smiles from tugging on his lips, his eyes fluttering closed of their own accord as the distance between them diminished, claiming those warm familiar curves he’d missed with his mouth. The palm against his cheek and the gold plated fingers were beckoning him up...closer, and the dark-haired First straightened somewhat from where he was sitting on the ground, his right hand settling against the soft fabric of Vincent’s sweater at his back, traveling lower and lower before deciding to bunch it up and finally...the smooth texture of the older man’s epidermis, the hard line of his spine, and the blue-eyed man couldn’t help but draw back for a moment, finding those burning crimson irises staring into his soul and the shiver and the subsequent exhalations were out of his control. “I want you.” His voice ragged and low.

Their lips met again, Angeal’s fingers wandering against the expanse of a smooth powerful back presented to him as he opened his mouth only to close it around the gunslingers feverish lips, laving and sucking on them insistently until the older man relented, a playful chuckle muffling in between their kiss. With his other hand he nudged Vincent forward, closer and closer and supporting his backside as the soldier pulled the ex-Turk down onto his own lap, the space that had been between them now nonexistent as he craned his neck back to capture those sanguine lips yet again. Ebony fell around him in a curtain of soft tickling tresses, and he couldn’t help but feel like his heart was trying to jump out of his throat and go reside in his partner’s chest. His hands settled just above the jut of those angular hipbones as he pressed his forehead to the pale one that was usually hidden by the maroon bandana, and the former Commander tried to steady himself, the same tiny smile still on his lips.

“How do you know...the exact words...that make me feel better?” The Banoran said a little breathlessly, tilting his head slightly to place gentle fleeting kisses to the corners of that beautiful mouth. “How do you know my heart even better than I? I’m so lucky to-...”

A smile that took his breath away and a kiss bestowed upon his lips was enough to make him stop. Vincent gave himself to the gesture, seemed to pour his very essence into the exchange between them until they were both reeling from it. Each of the gunslinger’s arms draped languidly over the blue-eyed First’s shoulders, those lithe hips flexing once before settling into him as the crimson-eyed ex-Turk nipped playfully at his lower lip, sucking once and then falling into a rhythm of swift, covetous kisses that were breathtaking in their avidity. Those maroon irises dropped to half-mast...organic hand curling in Angeal’s hair as the older man’s breath caught in his throat...shivered before rolling over his tongue in a kind of almost-inaudible purr. The General was-distinctly-aware of his arousal, of how it had risen to pull the palest of pinks to his cheeks...that mouth subtly reddened as it pulled away...as it searched hungrily across the stubble at his jaw before returning to his lips as if there would never be enough. He found he felt much the same.

“You’re ridiculous.” Vincent muttered, and he stiffened slightly...retreated until he could see the smile that stretched across graceful lips. “You don’t see yourself clearly.” Those hands pulled him closer again and he had to stifle a groan as the body in his lap arched slightly before pressing closer. Feathery, onyx strands of hair spilled over his left shoulder as his partner buried his face in the crook of his neck...as his lips found his pulse-point and sucked. “...I’m old as the hills.” was the unsteady, breathless mutter. “You’re so…”

Evidently beyond words, the gunslinger returned to his mouth...fed him a low, tremulous sound that seemed to shiver its way down his spine before letting his tongue flicker over the seam of his lips...asking for permission. At the same time, the ex-Turk leaned back slightly, hunching his spine so he could keep the kiss as he released the latch mechanism on his inorganic arm. It clattered to the floor and then that body was flush against him again. It was-Angeal thought distantly-a testament to how comfortable his lover was around him. Vincent trusted him enough to divest himself of the things that separated his private self from his public self. He didn’t know of anyone else who was privy to the fact that the crimson-eyed man didn’t have all his limbs. And he knew he shouldn’t think of it so frivolously-it was anything but frivolous-but the casualty behind the gesture made him want to shower the older man with love...with _thankfulness_ for his obvious faith.

“Want you” was the mumbled confession. “ _‘Geal...”_

After that utterance he really didn’t need anything to guide him. Pulling back just slightly, Angeal watched with what could be called a curious affectionate gaze as his hands slowly took off the shirt and the sweater together, pausing only to take Vincent’s hand that had been trying to do it and press its palm against his lips, guiding it to his own left shoulder. Up and up, and the wealth of alabaster skin that met his eyes was enough to take his breath away again. “You’ll never get old for me.” He whispered huskily, sapphire irises darting up to dark crimson ones before returning their attention to the older man’s fatigues.

Thankfully, he had foregone his harness and pauldrons today, having to sit through back to back meetings that even thinking about them was enough to give him a headache. The dark-haired gunslinger was divesting him of his sleeveless shirt, tugging on the hemline with all the patience in the world which made Angeal smile despite himself. Instead, he busied himself with sucking wet kisses against the older man’s neck and down his shoulders, his fingers digging slightly in sinewy sides every time that lithe body shivered in his embrace, the focus of those long digits getting distracted. It seemed to take forever until Vincent pushed him backwards playfully, gently, the knitted fabric of the General’s shirt bunched up under his armpits because he couldn’t simply take his hands off the chiseled torso presented to him.

Looking lower though, he could see those ivory digits unclasping and freeing his second belt before unbuttoning his leathers but they lingered on the zipper, not moving. Looking up in that beautiful brilliant gaze, Vincent was asking for his permission again, and his hands moved of their own accord to frame that pale handsome face before he kissed the older man’s forehead reverently, as though it would bless him. “I love you.” Angeal said in a rush of breathless speech, and covered those nimble fingers with his own and pulled the zipper before guiding them to the gunman’s fatigues. They had to disentangle, and the dark-haired First pulled back a little as his partner stood up, watching from below as those digits made quick work of his pants, feet bunching it up at the bottom, and the General wasn’t sitting anymore.

Slowly, and his hands were brushing along firm, well-built but lean thighs, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses as he kneaded the pale flesh of his companion that was quivering gently, until a hand tangled in his hair, and he looked up with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

Vincent's face was flushed, his eyes glassy as he followed his movements ravenously. Every so often, the older man would twitch at specific erogenous zones and Angeal tucked each one away for later moments... lovingly, carefully, like precious gems. When his lips found the soft skin of the crease where groin met thigh he couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the subtle, forward jerk of those lithe hips...at the barely-audible intake of breath. The blue-eyed First let his tongue trace the inward seam in a long, teasing downward spiral. The heft of that pale erection was velvet silk against his cheek; twitching slightly with his ministrations before he relented a bit and let his mouth wander over the underside in a barely-there upward motion…watching as those eyes narrowed into scarlet slits, as pearly teeth sank into the plush flesh of a bottom lip. Angeal played for a while; upwards over the head...hardly touching...drinking in the responsiveness of his lover as he watched through lowered lids, his arousal growing with his partner’s as that dark head of hair was thrown back; as the older man seemed to sway into the movement. Minutes ticked away and the tangibility of the moment seemed to swell...grew heavy and thick. That pale column of a throat worked erratically; adam’s apple bobbing as the the flush high on that angular face crept down to encompass alabaster cheeks.

“Angeal.”

Muttered, distracted and ragged; a plea as much as it was a demand. The younger man acquiesced, let his mouth close over the the tip of a weeping cock, let his tongue flicker out as he slid down...warmth pooling in his belly as the exhalation that came on the wings of his actions became stuttered...halted and then bloomed into a low, thin moan that seemed to encompass the entirety of his physical being. He remained for a moment, halfway immersed before drawing back up...saliva leaving a glittering, tell-tale trail over the vein as he pressed his thumb before it, as he steadied those trembling hips with the other hand and hollowed his cheeks... _sucked._ Vincent’s response was immediate, passionate and arduous. His back hunched slightly as his head fell forward...as that long, spider-silk hair fell over the nape of his neck as the gunslinger leaned inward; as he forced himself into stillness as the former Commander worked him over with his mouth, as the world fell away and there was only action and response of said action. The music of it was in the issue of inhalation, of muted gasps and muted, pleasured vociferation.

“ _Yes…_ ”

Long fingers tangled in the younger man’s hair, tugged slightly before realizing what they were doing...running through strands as if in apology. The bitter taste of pre-come flooded his senses and he knew that it wouldn’t be long if they kept up like this. He lifted his hand from the jut of a hipbone and the ex-Turk thrust forward slightly, breath coming short through his nose before he reigned himself in again...as that proud jaw clenched slightly before relaxing once more. Languorously licking from base to tip one last time, he let go of Vincent’s cock, almost wanting to apologize because he knew the older man was really really close. Quickly getting to work, he divested himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere forgettable, before pulling down his boxer briefs and his pants down to his knees. There was a rush of breath above him, and before he could look up the dark-haired gunslinger was lowering himself down and Angeal moved to let him sit down on his own lap again as they had been a small eternity ago.

Those red eyes that could have been on fire sought his for a moment and the blue-eyed First couldn’t stop himself from nodding slowly as he watched those long ivory fingers hesitate before closing around Angeal’s cock. The warmth of Vincent’s hand enveloping his flesh was inexplicable as the marksman caressed it gently, epidermis catching on epidermis while the younger man observed his companion’s movements with curiously affectionate blue eyes. Raising his hand, his partner parted sanguine lips, a pale tongue darting forward only to be covered by long fingers; they returned slick with spit to his erection, and the General couldn’t help but groan low in his throat as they began a series of firm strokes that were slowly but surely building up in speed, and in turn building up the pressure pooling in the bottom of his belly.

Letting his forehead lean on a slightly flushed shoulder, Angeal held onto Vincent’s sides, big palms brushing low and lower before settling over his underside. His exhalations were too loud in his own ear, and he busied himself with kissing and nipping on the soft skin, his body undulating with the rhythm of the gunslinger's hand before he stopped it in its ministrations, guiding those digits and Vincent’s body so their erections were flush together. Another groan and they were moving together.

His partner seemed to be struggling with pushing into the hand stroking his erection and the hand palming his backside. As they brought each other closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure it was clear that the scarlet-eyed man was clearly conflicted between release and wanting more. Distractedly, the former Commander acknowledged that he wasn't against it...the idea of giving to him what he'd struggled to give to another. The emotional connection between them left him with very little reticence in terms of his own misgivings. Yet another stroke from their joined hands and the blue-eyed First’s throat felt tight and hot...his entire body shot through with a pins-and-needles anticipatory pleasure. He would-he acceded-continue if he was asked to continue. Watching as Vincent thrust into his touch and then arched into his palm...he hazily realized that either way, he’d be equally happy. It was here, in this, _together_ that he felt complete. The methodology of it didn’t particularly matter…it was the company that did. Vincent made a low, supplicative sound and he lifted his mouth from a peaked nipple to catch near to slack lips as they slanted over his own. The tip of a tongue flicked against upper vermilion...like the single, eloquent oscillation of the wind tossing a leaf.

“Want you” Vincent said roughly. “All of you.”

That pale, virile form flexed...stretched until the hand not participating in their dualized act of gratification was forced to grasp onto the firm musculature of his companion’s ass. With that grasp came a significant darkening of those crimson irises...of a kind of single-minded purpose that was elucidated even with obvious silence. Regretfully, the General let the still-occupied hand abandon its post, though his partner took the gesture in stride. Letting it run down the small of his companion’s back, the dark-haired soldier tilted his head up to watch the older man’s response;...over the end-point of that powerful spine...down between two clefts to stoke the hot ruche of the aperture beneath with fore and ring finger. Again, Vincent’s reaction was subtle but fervent. As he tilted his hips to better accommodate his touch, the ex-Turk shivered zealously...coaxed his mouth up for a kiss that was hard and deep. The legs currently wrapped around Angeal’s waist tightened slightly, feet stretching out to brace flat against the floor before the gunslinger pulled away yet again.

“Is this okay?”

The dark-haired First couldn’t help as his features morphed into a soft flushed look of affection, as he captured Vincent’s luxurious mouth in a gentle fleeting kiss before whispering against those kiss-swollen lips. “Do you have lube?” The smile and the heat that rose up his neck and dusted his cheeks with even more red, too, couldn’t be helped.

Again the gunslinger detangled them, a sigh passing those lips and before the older man could get up, Angeal placed a hand just above a pale hip, his brows drawing in questioningly. A nod in the direction of the bathroom, and as the ex-Turk stood up, the General made quick work of taking off his boots and freeing himself of his pants and underwear before retracing the path those bare feet had taken.

Arriving inside, Vincent was just closing the mirror cabinet, a bottle of lube held in a pale hand. Looking around the room, it was smaller like everything else in the efficiency compared to First-Class and Second-Class accommodations. The walls were covered by light gray tiles, the space between them and the white porcelain sink and toilet a snug fit if both of them were to stand side by side. At the end of the room was a matching shower and tub combo, separated from the rest of the space by a sliding glass door. Plucking the bottle from those ivory digits, Angeal stood in the doorway, and the marksman quirked an eyebrow at him but the soldier didn’t wait to see the realization dawn on those beautiful red eyes. Latching his mouth to a pale shoulder, the General walked his partner backwards slowly, guiding him with the hand that reclaimed its post just above a lean waist. Once they were both standing in the tub and chest to chest, the blue-eyed soldier drew back slightly, running his fingers through the waterfall of silken ebony tresses as he regarded that handsome visage.

“Are you sure about this?”

Those pale lips-touched with just the slightest hint of cerise from kissing-curved into a gentle smile as a long-fingered hand reached back to fumble briefly with the handle that turned on the shower. One positive thing about living so near to the reactors was instantaneous warm water; Angeal considered this briefly as aqueous spray burst forth to drench them in liquid heat, leaning forward to capture a searching mouth; an arm draping over his shoulder as his partner pressed the length of his body against him, erection nudging his thigh as the younger man let one hand wander backwards over the dip of his spine to the cleft below. With the other, he popped open the cap to the lube and did the same; applying a generous amount to his fingers before gently urging the crimson-eyed ex-Turk to lean back against the tiles. That body shivered as shoulder blades came in contact with cool ceramic, but it didn’t seem to deter him. Instead, the gunslinger hiked one of his legs up around Angeal’s waist, steadying himself on the nozzle to the tub as he rubbed against seeking digits. Those aquiline features were slack with distraction...heavy on the edge of ardor as he seemed to realize he’d been asked a question. Realistically, the former Commander was fairly sure of the answer at this point, but he didn’t want to go any further without vocal assent. It was more to do with that lingering shadow of memory...of the fact that he could easily take without permission that kept him from moving forward.

“I’m sure.” was the breathless response.

It took a while. Not because either of them weren’t eager, but because neither of them were what someone else would call novices at the intricacies of preparation. There was a lot of fumbling; low laughs punctuated by the hiss of breath between teeth and a sort of slow-burning, fond kind of exploration that took away from what otherwise might have been an awkward situation. Water-it turned out-was a bit resistant against the effects of lubricant, and it was sometime before they figured out that moving quickly with it wasn’t going to work. By the time he got the first finger in Angeal was somewhat afraid that he might explode by the time they actually got to the culmination of what they were trying to do. That tight, grasping heat worked its way around him like a glove, the visage before him heavy and distracted before Vincent lowered his leg and moved away so he could turn around; bracing his forehead against his arm on the tiles as he bent somewhat to give the younger man easier access. From there it was slightly simpler, and he managed to finagle his way up to two fingers before the gunslinger groaned, loudly, as he brushed up against that hidden locus of pleasure. He seemed almost conflicted, as if the onslaught of sensations running through his physicality was something he wanted to get away from and something he wanted more of.

Relenting somewhat, the blue-eyed First gentled his advance...still seeking that internal sector but with less fervency...letting the tips of middle and forefinger dance over it as he continued the process. Every time he did the older man would tense, his face flushing, mouth hanging open in a soundless exclamation of gratification. This was often shadowed by a shallow, bewildered sort of moan...desultory and rhapsodic as powerful hips pushed back into the invasion...uncertainly at first, and then with greater fervor. Letting his head rest on the wet, feverish skin of a shoulder; Angeal drank in every response...watching as his companion’s cock-having softened somewhat initially-slowly filled with each tender impetus. Three fingers and the lube was forgotten on the shower floor; Vincent’s voice was laden with concupiscence...melodic and somewhat pleading. Damp, dark hair was laden with excess moisture; catching water droplets as it framed blushing alabaster cheeks. Every forward thrust of trembling digits brought a thrumming jolt to the body before him, as if the older man was an instrument plucked to musicality with merely his touch alone. The General angled his fingers downwards, crooked them just-so, let them flex and the crimson-eyed gunslinger made a guttural sound of satisfaction that was very-nearly unhinged.

“Good?” Angeal asked carefully.

“‘Nough.” was the garbled response before his lover seemed to think better of it. “Enough.” he articulated brokenly. “I’m ready.”

Draping his body over the older man, Angeal stopped his ministrations, his lips seeking Vincent’s once more as he brushed that noir curtain adorned with translucent jewels behind an ear, and then pulling away and out. There was an egress of breath as he did, one blazing crimson iris following his movements as he reached for the lube again, pouring a good amount in his palm before stroking his straining cock. Again, it took a short while for him to be able to finally get it right, his cheeks were burning with a rosy blush when he lined himself up with that sensitive ring of muscle before pushing in, slowly. Getting the head in, the breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped him in a long exhale, blue eyes watching his partner for any sign of discomfort as his big palms settled over Vincent’s hips.

“...Okay?” The General asked, his breathing having settled in a new rhythm as he tried to hold himself back from pushing further in.

A jerky nod, and the gunslinger tilted his head towards him, observing him over a pale shoulder. Moving slowly forward, Angeal hunched over the porcelain back beneath him, placing hot open-mouthed kisses against the hard line of Vincent’s spine until he was buried completely inside. Leaning his forehead at the base of the older man’s neck, he smiled somewhat before asking breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

Ivory digits tangled in his hair, nudging him toward burning lips that were seeking his own, and the blue-eyed First lost himself inside the kiss, sucking on a dexterous tongue and a plush bottom lip as though he couldn’t simply have enough of the taste of that beautiful mouth. His hand started moving of its own accord toward the semi-hard line of Vincent’s cock, trying to stroke it but again, it was a little hard considering the amount of friction, despite the droplets of water that were drenching them. It was getting harder and harder to stay that way, their lip-locks turning more into brief brushing of tongues and lips until the gunslinger finally whispered his name, very much in the same fashion that he had earlier inside the living room. And with that the General placed one last kiss upon an ivory shoulder blade before starting to move. Slowly, slowly, and it very much felt like he was about to explode again, a huff of breath passing his lips, blue irises never leaving the ex-Turk who was moving against him; once in a while turning to look at the younger man with a sanguine mouth stretched into a small breathless smile that made Angeal want to kiss him again.

His grip tightened around the crimson-eyed man’s waist, before he decided better. “I’m gonna try...something.” They stopped moving, catching their breaths and the former Commander stepped backwards a little, until Vincent’s arm wasn’t propped on the wall anymore, before stopping and holding firmly onto alabaster lats to support the lean physicality of his lover himself. “Will you touch yourself for me?” The dark-haired First whispered against the shell of his partners ear, moving lower to place a kiss against the strong column of his throat. Vincent’s physicality moved against him, epidermis slipping across epidermis as he took the lube from beside their legs. There was the hot egress of breath, desirous and somewhat resembling a ‘ _Yes._ ’ and Angeal barely held himself back from telling the gunslinger how he loved him yet again.

Instead, he started moving, matching his thrust to the rhythm of that pale arm as it brushed against the back of his right hand palm, and soon there was the slap of musculature against muscle with their every movement; that pale lithe body arching in his hands and the General wanted to trace every dip in that virile physicality, every sharp angle with his fingers. His breathing was faster as he pressed his mouth into a tight line before opening it yet again to exhale something between a groan and a grunt. Vincent responded to his vociferation with a full-body shudder; as if the mere nuance of his desire brought forth in vocal form was enough to make him lose all semblance of self-restraint. It made sense really...with his occupational history in mind. The crimson-eyed man would have been taught to utilize and value observance above many things. Auditory observance was likely hardwired to his willingness to respond...his awareness of a situation beyond normal, less intricate means. Tentatively, Angeal leaned forward...let his lips brush against the shell of a flushed ear as he opened his mouth to speak. When he did, it was merely a whisper...teasing yet tender.

“ _You feel so good…_ ”

Immediately, the older man shivered, stilled and tilted his head; scarlet irises observing his visage as if gauging his intent. Angeal allowed the affection that seemed to be overflowing from his heart to write itself upon his features...watched as those dark brows drew together as he hit his prostate dead-on before melting into bliss once again. Another whispered phrase, another tremulous undulation and it was easy from there...strings of syllables, a litany of murmured ponderings as the older man moaned and tilted his head to further encourage the particular vein of thought they were both now following. It wasn’t anything lascivious, nothing overly salacious or vulgar; merely the gradation of the General’s ardour brought forth into auditory verse. An ovation here, an adulation there...all love and valuation and trust and Vincent seemed to practically _melt_ under it...brought the foot furthest from the edge of the tub up to prop itself on the inward ledge to give them both deeper access; drove himself backwards over the now-aching span of his length as gratuity spilled from venereal lips in the form of a shallow, wanton utterance.

The clutch of that hot, humid channel was a pulsating, inexorable panacea...pulling him towards fruition faster than he’d have liked. Angeal forced himself to slow; to keep his strokes long, languid and easy despite the way the ex-Turk chased every withdraw...a sort of stuttered, distracted huff spilling from his lips each time he did so. Kissing the apex where neck met shoulder, the younger man sucked idly, his eyes heavy-lidded as he brought one hand around to press flat against the musculature of a hard abdomen...tilting them forward as he kept the rhythm firm but languid. With every other thrust he made sure to hit Vincent’s prostate, relishing the way the warmth surrounding his cock clenched sharply in tandem with the gratified noise it brought from seeking lips. The blue-eyed First rewarded them with a kiss, allowing the gunslinger to push them back up into a once-again somewhat vertical position. The hand stroking the pale column of the older man’s cock faltered slightly as he did so, as if the ingress of mouth and tongue were enough to distract him from the central focus of his pleasure. A groan spilled forth between them, though it was hard to tell whose lips it fell from. The spray of water was a temperate backdrop; aqueous salinity drenching physicality until it seemed that the very definition of their union was wrought in moisture...in the dampness of flushed faces and soaked skin.

Angeal was feeling light-headed, not in the sense of feeling weak, but from the pleasure he was feeling and from the gratification in the undulating, lithe alabaster physicality writhing against him. The dark-haired First was intoxicated with it, unable to do anything but observe; the aqueous droplets latching onto pearl white skin sliding down, tangling inside the never ending waterfall of starless night like shimmering diamonds before rolling down to disappear at their feet. Unable but to respond to the fervent heat enveloping and retreating from him with equal vigor, and _touch_ ; the slide of slippery skin against skin, tracing sinew flexing underneath flushed epidermis, firmly holding onto the finely chiseled body of his lover with big strong hands.

Vincent was beautiful.

In a fleeting moment of clarity, the thought was enough to make him wish he knew how to draw, to preserve the magnificence of the individual swiftly nearing the brink of euphoria; those rubicund lips ever-parted in shaky exhalations and vocables, the very same luxurious curves Angeal didn’t seem to tire of tracing with his own. And those brilliant burning eyes framed with charcoal lashes gazed into his soul from behind a fringe of ebony tresses; the dark-haired First couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to tuck them behind the flushed shell of an ear, couldn’t help but trace every single vertebrae under the vast expanse of an ivory back with his fingers only to retrace them with his lips, up and up and he was sucking another blushing flower on a broad shoulder as the physicality of his lover’s body became taut as a bow; covering ivory digits with his own he held unto him, leant his forehead against the base of a pale neck, feeling the warmness constricting and trembling around him and Angeal moved with it, quicker and quicker, his breaths brushing over his lips in heated huffs with each jerk of his hips as he chased the deliverance after his companion… A final ingress, a stuttered utterance as the younger man pressed blue eyes shut.

“ _Vince-...!_ ”

A long, drawn-out moan was the older man’s response as Angeal reached-surpassed-the pinnacle of desire; clutching his companion to him as he released deep- _hard-_ into that shuddering heat. Pleasure washed over his psyche, whited out his vision as he spiraled into ecstasy. This was followed by a ragged, breathless exhale caught on the tattered edges of a moan as Vincent slumped forward into the tiles, as he seemed to lose all semblance of physical strength as he shivered against cold ceramic. If he hadn’t known better, the former Commander might have assumed he was hurt, but the way he swayed into it, the way he closed his eyes and bit his lower lip told him he was savoring the aftershocks...fingers curling backwards to push into the blue-eyed First’s hair as he made a garbled, distracted sort of sound...chest heaving as he regained a steady rhythm of breath. The stillness of the moment was tangible, suffused with affection as the younger man nuzzled a wet shoulder, breathing in the scent of water and the individual, distinctly separate aroma that was solely that of the man before him. Withdrawing, he kissed distractedly at the nape of a flushed neck, his lips lazy and preoccupied as they both came down from the intensity of the moment. Eventually, the crimson-eyed man spoke; his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

“I love you.”

The backdrop of the shower was suddenly forefront as love and affection bloomed in Angeal’s chest; as he slowly but surely turned his companion around to face him, drawing him close as he did so and placing a kiss on a pale cheek. Letting his fingers run down the virile arch of a back, the blue-eyed man sighed and smiled secretly into the slope of a proud jaw. Closing heavy lids, he let himself bask in the moment...in the intimacy of it. They got so little of it these days, and it was like a balm against his weary soul. Somewhat wistfully, he wished he had sought such closeness sooner; not necessarily in this form, but in any form. Because Vincent was so _good_ at making him feel wanted, feel important. Despite everything both of them had been through, they were still a cohesive unit at the end of the day. Long fingers carded through his sodden hair and he shivered at the tenderness behind the gesture, at the careful way a warm palm cupped the base of his skull, thumb stroking softly before settling.

It was easy to give in, to lose himself inside that embrace, tethered to the physical world only by that single point of contact at the nape of his neck. Reverently but with somewhat lazy hands he returned the gesture, cradling the back of a dark-haired head, before pulling back slowly as his fingers carded through the tresses, drawing them forward to cascade over a broad shoulder. And suddenly his eyes saw the flowering bruise his mouth had left against the pale canvas of his lover’s form, but he said nothing, did nothing but to bring his lips to the soaked skin of the older man’s forehead to place a gentle kiss before he whispered.

“I love you too.”

They cleaned up in a lazy but comfortable sort of silence, affectionate eyes locking with equally warm irises, and Angeal wanted to go reside in those fiery maroon depths, wanted to cradle the side of that pale face and wax poetic like Genesis could, but he was no poet.

They left the shower together, and as the blue-eyed soldier knotted a towel around his waist and got most of the water out of his hair with broad careless strokes of another fluffy fabric, he watched his partner take his time with his own, eyes following ivory fingers through damp strands in a trance-like state until there was a playful and tender chuckle, crimson irises following his movements in the slightly misted mirror before darting back to observe his face. And a flush crept up his neck and settled over his cheeks as he realized he’d been at it with his mouth slightly parted in undivided focus. The General then excused himself sheepishly, moving to the living room to gather the items of their clothing which were strewn haphazardly across the orange carpet before placing them in a somewhat neat pile, retrieving his underwear from it as he divested himself of the towel and pulled it on.

Sitting on the edge of the futon, Angeal listened to his partner move about in the bathroom, his mind a blank slate of gratified vacancy. For what felt like the thousandth time, he found himself wishing that they did this more often...this togetherness, this sense of needful happiness that only existed when it was just the two of them. Other people had a habit for always searching for more than there really was in the exterior glamour of existence; not so with them. There was always a quiet sense of ageless appreciation...a pall of peace that was only prevalent to them and no one else. Watching as Vincent swept out into the living room wearing a cotton T-shirt and sweatpants, he couldn’t help but think that maybe peace, after all this time, was what they were finally getting. That dark hair was pulled up in a loose hair tie; bundled to the side...aquiline features slack with satisfaction and exhaustion. The younger man smiled as he was shooed off the futon so the crimson-eyed gunslinger could pull it out, retrieving two pillows from a closet just next to the bathroom along with a fluffy comforter.

Tired and deliriously grateful at the sight of an available place to sleep, Angeal flopped onto the dark blue sheets and grinned through closed eyelids as a gentle hand wedged a pillow beneath his head and the mattress. Calloused fingers lingered briefly on his cheek before the coverlet was thrown over him and the sound of feet padding away reached his ears. There was the **_*click*_ ** of the light switch and the return of those near-silent soles before the bed dipped as Vincent slid in next to him. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but as he pulled the older man to him, the blue-eyed First couldn’t help but think of it as _perfect._ His partner hummed contentedly before settling into him more fully, something endearing and exhausted spilling from his lips before he fell silent...his breathing slowly deepening as he slipped into unconsciousness. Listening to the gentle, rhythmic melody of each exhaled breath, Angeal couldn’t help but think of himself as lucky.

And as luck would have it...sooner rather than later, he fell into slumber too; with a smile on his lips and the promise of a better tomorrow ahead.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a line in the fifth paragraph before the chapter draws to a close, that's from Shakespeare. Neither of us own it, so there's that, just in case.
> 
> Alright now, we both hope you enjoy the rest of the show.

Guilt.

It was a horrible feeling; an  _ all encompassing  _ feeling. Sephiroth hated it, but at the same time he was inundated with it. Staring at blank walls, staring at open air, staring at nothing and the only thing that remained was guilt, chewing at his innards, ripping its way through his intestines until nothing else remained. He wondered-in brief fits of lucidity-if this was what all criminals were supposed to feel. As a General, he didn’t deal with psychopaths very often, but most of them seemed unrepentant in the face of their sentencing. This was different. Every wrongdoing, every misdeed he’d committed over the course of the past few years was highlighted in red at the forefront of his cerebral cortex. He relieved every horrible action like it had happened only moments before. Maybe it was the consequence of having a photographic memory. Realistically, he should have known better. Getting his humanity back, his emotionalism back, it was bound to have horrific consequences. Right now, he was living them. Every waking moment was inundated with the things he had done wrong. 

Memories.

They haunted him, spilled from his veins until he woke up screaming into empty space. Recollections pulled from the dregs of what seemed like the mouth of Hell itself until he couldn’t do anything but collapse against the wall and cover his eyes. Reuniting with Genesis-however briefly-had brought everything he’d done to the redhead in particular to the forefront. He was inundated by nightmares of that dreadful night, of knowing what was going to happen and yet being unable to _stop,_ of watching as if he was a spectator, as if everything before him was a play set out for his enjoyment. He couldn’t count how many times he had watched Genesis die, how many times he’d held him in his arms and pleaded with him not to go. Countless times, he was pulled from unconsciousness with his hands splayed and shaking before his face, minutes would pass before he realized that they weren’t drenched in blood...that they were clean...if a little bit soft from not being able to grip his sword. Sephiroth knew the symptoms of PTSD, he just didn’t know why _he_ was the one who had to suffer from it, and why now and not before.

When he thought about it, he supposed it was safe to assume he’d been mentally compromised his entire life. It made sense, in the twisted way that only evil things make sense. Hojo had broken him early...young, when it was convenient. And then, when he’d had everything he thought he wanted he had broken it himself, because he couldn’t bear the thought of it being taken away. It didn’t make sense that he didn’t dream of the labs anymore, though he supposed all of that paled compared to the things he had done. It didn’t help it...rationalizing it didn’t help it. It only made it worse. Thousands of times worse than it should have been. When he was feeling minutely sane he wondered if Genesis was faring any better. Logically, the redhead might have given him up as a lost cause and surrendered to whatever Angeal demanded. A part of him hoped that he had, that the blue-eyed former First had chosen life over confinement, that he’d chosen to go a different path for the sake of self-preservation. Some small part of him acknowledged that this was very unlikely. Once the redhead chose what was before him, there was very little that could sway him. This only added to his despairing sense of guilt...the knowledge that he had dragged someone he loved down into this darkness with him. 

Love.

A month ago, two months ago-however long it had been-he’d have scoffed at the concept of love. Love was for weak people, love was for humans. A single encounter had been enough to shatter his concepts of weakness. Because Genesis had knelt over him, had drawn him close and whispered that he only wanted  _ him.  _ When he thought about it, it was almost enough to make him laugh hysterically. Because obviously Genesis was  _ insane.  _ He was a murderer, a mass-murderer at this point. There was nothing redeeming or beautiful about him. The more he tried to figure out the older man’s reasoning the less it made sense. He was forced to chalk it up to some type of Stockholm Syndrome, because no one fell in love with their  _ rapist.  _ The idea of it was unconscionable, it didn’t make any sense at all. And he was frightened by the emotional response such devotion brought in him; that old, familiar sense of belonging and possessiveness. Sephiroth couldn’t have that, Sephiroth couldn’t  _ take  _ that unquestioningly. His track record of destroying everything he touched went before him. 

But he loved Genesis.

The acknowledgement of such a fact was painful, but he couldn’t deny it. Genesis had always been everything he wanted, everything he dreamed of. Clever, humorous, creative...singularly individual...Genesis was  _ beautiful  _ in ways that he could never dream of being. And there would always be a place in his heart that was individually his. The former Commander would always hold a sway over him that no one else could. The tattered, broken remnants of ravenous darkness in him scoffed at such a fact, sneered at his weakness and brought him down into dust but he couldn’t dismiss it. Wanting Genesis was like wanting air, wanting water...it was an ache in his chest that never seemed to abate. He’d been able to free himself from it during his time in the Lifestream, but the cost of that freedom was his humanity. Sephiroth knew-without question-that he could not afford to lose that humanity again. So he would love Genesis, but that love would never be something in physical form. He was content to keep it within him as an acknowledged concept.

He didn’t know where he was.

When he’d first regained consciousness he’d assumed he was likely on trial to be executed. He was never called forth in front of a firing squad, so he was then forced to consider that he’d been sentenced to life imprisoned. The realization of this was accompanied with profound horror, because he had spent his entire youth locked up in a cell with barely any visitors. The minute he’d tried to call on the corrupt Lifestream, he’d been threatened with Genesis’ death. And he knew that it shouldn’t have stopped him...but it did. He didn’t want to be an agent of death anymore, of suffering and fear...especially not the death of the man he’d already seen die a thousand times in his mind. As the warning blared through the sound system, he’d collapsed onto his knees and covered his ears. Because they knew how to make him bend now...they had a weapon that was stronger than any weapon he could conjure...and it wasn’t even a physical thing...it was an emotional thing. It had made him angry, at first. That anger fueled him for several days, let him sit there and scheme and try to deduct a way around it. Swiftly, that anger had turned into despair, to hopelessness. If he knew where Genesis was, if he knew  _ anything  _ about where they were being held, he might have tried to grab the redhead and run...but it was too much of a risk to do so without knowing anything about the facility. He could teleport into thin air...he could accidentally kill someone. And while the older version of him had no problem doing this...the new version did. He didn’t know what was worse...being a monster or not wanting to be a monster anymore.

Meals came in the form of something tasteless and nameless; something smashed together and slid into the room with a bureau-esque box in the doorless space. He tried starving himself to receive the same threat he’d gotten for trying to call the corrupt Lifestream. It was-admittedly-halfhearted. Because if he died he’d just come back as something worse...and he didn’t want that. Afterwards, he spent his days tallying figures, trying to ascertain where everything had went wrong in his brain. It wasn’t exactly healthy...forcing himself to relive the horrific events of the past few years, but it was the only penance he had. Vincent came to visit him some time later…though he was only able to talk to him through the microphone installed in the ceiling. By then he was barely capable of speech, let alone retaliation. Hunched up against a padded wall he’d merely stared blankly forward as his biological father attempted to talk to him. And he didn’t really understand that either. Because he’d killed his own mother right in front of him and the older man’s voice was still kind...still loving and assuring. Sephiroth hated that, he hated it so much it made him want to rip the entire world into pieces. Because  _ forgiveness  _ wasn’t something he deserved. When the crimson-eyed man told him in the same patient, gentle,  _ infuriating  _ voice that he was leaving, he managed to choke out Genesis’ name only to receive static as a response.

He adjusted slowly.

Which was a nice way of saying that he mentally deteriorated until there was nothing he could feasibly do about it. Eventually they were forced to threaten him again to make him go take a shower. Standing under the spray, watching as water sluiced down his body, he recognized that he didn’t feel like he deserved to be clean. Because everything he’d done was incomprehensibly filthy...and he wanted his outward appearance to match. They delivered him a set of nondescript clothes via the box and took the previous ones somewhere unknown; he didn’t let himself worry about it. Sitting on the cot provided with damp hair and dull green eyes he couldn’t help but think it fitting. From confinement via servitude to confinement of his own making. If there was anything consistent in his life, it was incarceration.

Realistically...he was surprised that he hadn’t anticipated it himself.

As time went by, Sephiroth became aware of a sort of whisper in the dregs of his mind. It was less like Jenova and more like Lucrecia, so he ignored it. He’d had enough of communing with ethereal individuals who didn’t seem to have his best interests in mind. The silver-haired man cut himself off from whatever was there...whatever link remained of his heinous past. Even if it was something good, it wasn’t something that he deserved. Initially, he was successful in pushing it away. Resolutely; he turned his mind from it...shoved it back until it was naught but a flicker. He had a routine at that point...if anything about his current livelihood could be called ‘routine.’ He was up before his first meal arrived and counting the divots in the ceiling immediately after he’d finished. His ‘mornings’ were spent reliving the carnage of Junon and his noons were inundated with recollections of Gillian’s death. Afternoons and evenings were cerebral confessionals of his wrongdoings towards Genesis. He had no time for psychic seekings...they didn’t have a place in his current state of existence. 

Whatever it was was persistent.

When his nightmares were particularly virulent, he would wake to feel it receding from the edges of his awareness as the screams died in his throat. For a while, he was indignant, because while it could obviously reach out to him, he couldn’t reach back. Sephiroth disliked the idea of being unable to reciprocate. Not because he wanted to be invasive, but because he had no idea where any of it was coming from. The first time he opened his mind to it...it fled. Weary, trembling with exhaustion from whatever his brain had conjured at the current moment, the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER had reached out with cerebral supplication only to be rebuked. It was like a door slammed shut in his mind. There was the sense of shock, of retreat, as if whatever it was hadn’t expected him to respond...but he didn’t chase it. It took-by his estimate-maybe a week for it to return. When it did, it was tentative. Like a soft, pale glow on the fringes of his unconscious...it hovered. Instead of approaching directly, Sephiroth opted to ‘stand’ from afar...throwing out a mental invitation that was as innocuous as he could make it. He was accosted with the sense of being in an unlit room...of himself and the... _ other... _ being shadowed, unformed presences in a seamless space.

_ “...Who are you?”  _

It wasn’t like talking...not really. It was more like the impression of speech; a sort of mockery of communication that shivered across neurons until it left him to go into the beyond. Whatever it was paused, seemed to consider him. It was a familiar sort of consideration, something on the edge of affection and irritation. Beyond that was anger, deeper than any of the other emotions...and beyond that...despair. Sephiroth didn’t know what to make of it, because it had been so long since he’d had any sort of contact with anyone he’d forgotten what it was like. Even when he was free...razing the world to ruins he struggled with the concept of closeness. Standing in Gillian’s home he’d struggled to get his words out, battled with himself as those kind eyes looked at him sadly, sympathetically. 

‘Silence’ met his ‘words’.

If the vague sense of another consciousness just lapping at the shores of his awareness wasn’t still present, Sephiroth would’ve thought that the connection or whatever it was had been broken. And suddenly, there it was; something different from how he’d tried opening himself up almost a week earlier, unalike the invitation he’d proffered, and yet somewhat the same. It was oddly like speaking on radio in the earlier years of Wutai War; how you had to tune into a specific frequency to hear what was being said on the other side, and yet being able to hear unintelligible echoes of it across the bandwidth. 

_ “Took you long enough.” _

It didn’t feel like a sentence. It felt like a neutral caress of a wind against his mind, if he had a corporeal form inside the nowhere that both him and this stranger were present. There was really no need to repeat his question; being that it was on the forefront of his mind, the query felt like it was broadcasted all around him. Vaguely, the silver-haired man could feel his brows furrowing in a frown as he tried to make sense out of whatever this was.

There was a sense of withdrawal, and it seemed like the other, whoever it was, was about to retreat; their- _ its? _ -effect fading, ebbing from his neurons, and Sephiroth couldn’t ‘stand’ where he was. He chased after it only to feel like he’d ‘slammed’ into an invisible wall.

_ “Don’t…! Don’t come any closer!”  _

More static, and his confusion was paramount, because he couldn’t rationalize this. It was at the same time, very much like the brief moments he had communicated with his ‘mother’, and yet at the same time so very dissimilar. Abruptly, his stubbornness and the tiny specks of darkness still scattered across his psych rose to the surface, and at once, he was both ‘pushing forward’ and ‘drawing back’. Because the thought of scaring away the only thing that could possibly help him hold onto his sanity, the only thing that could probably stop how rapidly his mental faculties were deteriorating was so virulent, so terrifying that it was almost surprising. What was even more startling was that the silver-haired man could feel his thoughts ‘float’ around him in that unlit room, and before they could get any further away, he too, slammed a wall in front of his every thought process, leaving his mind blank at the moment; or the forefront at least. 

Trying to calm himself, Sephiroth took a breath, exhaling slowly before he started formulating his next query only to have his answer before he could even ask.

_ “It’s me, Genesis.” _

_ Genesis. _

This time, it was the silver-haired man that retreated. Really, it was more like he reeled with a sense of terrible nostalgia, of panic, of  _ longing.  _ The wall he’d so painstakingly created crumbled and he hated himself for being so obviously vulnerable. He drew into himself, further, further still. Because he could  _ not  _ do this. There was no point in this, no reasoning behind it. They’d had their fight and whatever…reunion had come after. There was no reason for the redhead to seek him out, especially like  _ this.  _ The mental fortress he created this time was impermeable. If it could be brought into visualization, it would have been that of a blank...sterile screen. Indeed, it was what he visualized; disinfection anyway. He thought of the labs...of cold...steel surfaces and unyielding hands and the slow throb of pain. The green-eyed ex-SOLDIER threw that coldness up before him...not as a weapon but as a shield, wrapped it around himself until it suffused him... Genesis’ presence was a barely-there glow before it and he wanted nothing more than for him to vanish entirely. Because he was not going to live the remainder of his life with a man who absolutely did not deserve him...who deserved  _ better.  _ And he couldn’t afford to let his former companion see him like this...because even if the redhead was angry, even if he didn’t trust him, there was still some part of him that wanted him.

Sephiroth could  _ not  _ allow that.

For a long while, he couldn’t decide what the best course of action would be. Realistically, it was within very good reason to allow the older man to call the shots. Not because he should be anywhere near him at the moment, but because the former General owed him that benevolence. But he didn’t want that benevolence to come at the cost of the redhead’s sanity...at the cost of his reasoning. And there was nothing  _ reasonable  _ about him wanting Sephiroth, about him seeking him out despite this. A part of him wanted to layer himself in countless threads of psyche until he was virtually invisible. Falling asleep would possibly be the fastest version of doing so, but he hadn’t mastered veiling his mind while unconscious, and it would give Genesis free access to his mind. Despairingly, the green-eyed ex-First wondered what memories his former comrade had had the privy to look at while he slept...he wondered if he’d seen everything that tortured him...every pathetic emotion that inundated his dreams. He was-intimately-aware that in earlier years, something like this would have angered him...but he didn’t have the space for anger anymore. Exhaustedly, Sephiroth decided he would let Genesis have his say, and then there would be no more of this. He wouldn’t let the older man fool himself into thinking that he had anything left to offer. Taking a deep, cerebral ‘breath’, the silver-haired man focused forward once more.

_ “Can I do anything for you?” _

Realistically, he figured  _ ‘What do you want?’  _ or  _ ‘Why are you here?’  _ wouldn’t be received well. He went for the most neutral query possible and settled back to ‘stare’ into the darkness around him as he wanted for the subsequent reply.

As though mirroring his focus from moments ago, there was the sense of undivided attention converging in on a focal point. Calm descended inside his mind and ‘all around’ him, and all of a sudden, there was the shimmer of something inside the unlit blank space ‘in front of’ him; a bright dot glowing inside the darkness like a scarlet gem catching a nonexistent light. The very same confusion that had suffused him moments before the other had introduced himself seemed to be exuding from his companion, washing up against his awareness. And the ruby light started expanding, extending past that point into a triangle and… it was the point of a blade. Surprise flooded his neurons as Genesis seemed to have come upon a revelation on the other end of their connection. Abruptly, light flooded his cerebral ‘vision’, and if he had eyes, he’d be squinting. The redhead was painting a picture against the blank canvas of his psyche that was eerily familiar in big bright splashes of achromatic coloration.

Two gray padded walls, windowless, doorless, and in the corner, almost blending in with the surrounding if it weren’t for the bright splash of auburn hair, sat a figure hugging his knees, with Rapier just shy of pale bare toes.

Even before Sephiroth could acknowledge his own amazement, anger and despair ‘rose up’ in the nothingness between them in a wave so high that were it to crash, it would douse them both. 

_ “The very sight of it is driving me crazy...” _

And surprisingly, the silver-haired man knew what the gray-clad figure hiding his face behind his knees was talking about.

The shimmering ruby that started this heart wrenching illustration meeting his ‘eyes’. Confusedly, Sephiroth ‘stared’ at the weapon in front of him. He didn’t understand it, because why didn’t Genesis  _ use  _ it? More importantly...his worst fears had been confirmed. The redhead was confined as he was...in what looked like an almost-identical cell. Despair unfolded in his chest like a great, winged beast. Because  _ he  _ had done this,  _ he  _ had brought them here with his unforgivable actions. Even as his psyche demanded to know why the older man hadn’t smashed his way out yet...his heart knew the answer. It wasn’t that Genesis couldn't; Genesis  _ wouldn’t.  _ And he wouldn't because of him. And the silver-haired man wanted to be angry...but the only feeling that rose up within him was exasperated affection. Because of course he would choose this over his death...of course he would. The grief that threatened to swallow him was overwhelming, but even as tendrils of his psyche reached forward to embrace that which was before it, he pulled them back. He would not touch without permission, whether that touch be physical or mental...he wouldn’t. Carefully, reverently, the younger man let his walls fall...felt his companion ‘look up’ as he did so. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, the green-eyed ex-First began to paint an equally relevant picture...but it was a picture of emotion; of acceptance, of soft affection, of resignation.

_ “Use it…” _ He ‘whispered.’  _ “This is my fault...you deserve to live...I  _ **_want_ ** _ you to live. You deserve to have a choice.” _

Laughter, there was always the echo of so much laughter between them. And he missed that, he missed how tangible everything about them used to be. At the same time, he acknowledged that the swirls of recollection teeming around them were just that...recollection; there was no laughter here. And he wouldn’t be the anchor that held Genesis where he was. There was no kindness in that...no love. Before, he hadn’t loved the redhead enough to let him go, now he did. Carefully, painstakingly, he drew yet another mental ‘picture’; of the Northern Crater, of where he’d rebuilt his body. If Shinra did choose to eliminate him once the former Commander was gone, he wanted to make sure there was no possibility of his return. It was a lot to ask of someone who had spent so long apparently seeking him out for answers...for closure. But there would be no closure as long as he was continuously being rebuilt. And there was no Lucrecia this time...no chance of him regaining his humanity, not fully. Sephiroth was not willing to take that risk. It took longer to weave this particular tapestry, to give a sense of direction, a sense of purpose. The intent behind it was easier, but he was sweating by the time he was done. Wryly, the silver-haired man acknowledged that mental conversation took more energy than he was used to using. Genesis was an adept mage, but he was not. The Jenova cells were hard for him to manipulate and command, and he didn’t like to use them unless he had to. He was intimately aware of how such cells could be used for ill against the other. Should he suffer another mental break, he could very well figure out a way to invade the redhead’s mind. Better that this end now than risk that. With the image clear in his mind, he sent it out; etched the likeness of the crystal between them until it was almost unbearably bright.

_ “Destroy it...when you can. Sooner than later.” _

The mental likeness of his ex-lover didn’t ‘budge’, didn’t ‘take’ the intricate hilt of his sword. Of course, it was a psychic manifestation of the reality surrounding the redhead, and while he could be doing exactly what he’d urged him to do only moments ago, nothing happened to him. There were no alarms blaring, no sound of explosions, not even a single speck of dust moving out of place around his physicality in his cell.

Instead, there was the distinct ‘sound’ of a crack inside his brain. Fissures forming against the stage Genesis had created, until it fractured and fell away into the darkness. The redhead, though, remained as he was, his focus on him undivided. Judging by how the anger was building on the other side of their connection, it was very much imminent that the wave he’d ‘seen’ rise around them come crashing down any instant. And just as rapidly as it had risen, it dissipated. The gray-clad figure in front of him started blurring around the edges, darkness rising up with the feeling of retreat that replaced the tsunami of emotions from only moments ago.

It was back to the unlit room, ‘in front of’ him.

His companion was there, but just barely. Sephiroth was accosted with an image of hanging by a thread, of being on the brink of destruction…

_ “Still pushing things on me, I see. Are you just like Angeal now? Wanting me to just  _ live _?”  _ A sensation of bitterness, of poison… of concentration, and a slideshow of recollections started unfolding in front of his eyes like scenes cut from silent film before flashing in rapid succession. Unnameable people met his ‘eyes’, advancing on with malevolent expressions; the sensation of shifting gravity, of wave after wave of pain. The cacophony of gunfire, blood gushing forth and painting claws made of brilliant light. Of explosion and debris falling all around, the potent summon of magic, the blurring image of glowing green of mako drawing further away. Of running through the streets of Midgar, watching everything from behind a helmet. Labored breaths. Passing by the Aeron square, and into a park with oleanders, with maples and willow trees.

There was a ‘cry’, and what he’d been watching was slashed through, falling away like tatters of tapestry as pain rushed to the fore.

More static. 

_ “I had my choice. You still owe me answers.” _

Forcing himself to think through the aftershocks of the previous onslaught, Sephiroth drew a deep breath and allowed himself to settle. Fine. Grudgingly, the younger man acknowledged that he should know better at this point. Genesis would have made a concrete decision about this already, and nothing he could say would change his mind. The silver-haired man acquiesced to his decision as he had on the battlefield, forfeited his right to question it. He didn’t allow himself to feel grateful, however; feeling grateful for something he didn’t deserve was the height of selfishness. With that aside, that just left them. The two of them, just like it always seemed to be. He didn’t know if he should feel happy or sad about it. A part of him was aggrieved, because at least one of them should be able to have more, but another part of him was quietly appreciative, almost admiring in the way his former companion dealt with the hardships placed before him. He knew saying it ‘out loud’ wouldn’t earn him anything, so he simply basked in it. The memory the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER had projected was painful, but he didn’t let himself focus on the intent. Bitterly, he wished things were a little bit different, but they weren't. Neither of them were going to get anywhere by dwelling on the past. 

_ “You know I’m not Angeal.”   _ He said calmly. 

He waited briefly for a response. Genesis’ presence in his mind was still steady, but it was also still withdrawn. Strangely, he didn’t feel a sense of panic at the idea of his egress. Despairingly, he wished he’d come into such maturity before everything went so wrong...before he’d made such terrible choices. Sephiroth acknowledged that  _ he  _ had acknowledged his need for Genesis, but at the same time he’d also come to terms with his ability to live without him. He wasn’t sure what was more painful, the fact that he could manage on his own, or the fact that he’d only learned how to when it was nearly too late. And he wanted to say a whole slew of affectionate, endearing things that he’d never thought of saying before in his life; of how happy he was to simply know he was alive, of how  _ brave  _ he thought the former Commander was...but such compliments had no place here. They were here to understand each other. More specifically, Genesis was here to understand him...though to what end he couldn’t quite say. He knew-instantaneously-that there was no right or wrong answer to anything he could possibly ask, no matter how much he wanted there to be. Relenting more...Sephiroth let his walls fall entirely; felt the soft...incredulous ‘intake’ of ‘breath’ as his mind was laid entirely bare. Extending a metaphysical ‘hand’ shot through with glowing, effervescent light...he spoke…

_ “...Ask me anything.”  _

A myriad of ‘voices’ filled the void; some of them the softest of murmurs, some neutral yet pained, the others yelling… rising in volume and running over one another until the redhead seemed to reign them in. 

_ “I don’t trust you...”  _

And as much as it hurt to hear that, especially just after laying himself completely bare and defenseless, Sephiroth didn’t take back his ‘hand’, didn’t renege his offer. He simply ‘stood’ there, waiting… Vaguely, he knew he would stay where he was, even if it took them minutes, hours, days; he would wait not because he had nothing else to do in the reality of his incarceration, but because Genesis deserved it. The silver-haired man realized that he had nothing to give but endless time, until his brain and body were simply too exhausted to maintain their connection, and even then, if he could hold back the virulent darkness that had suffused his entire older existence, he wouldn’t veil his mind.

_ “You didn’t kill her, did you?” _

There was a brief flash of kind grey eyes framed by a compassionate face, of dark short tresses streaked with grey. And laughter, the same laughter that he missed so terribly, the same laughter that his darkness had connivingly robbed of those perfect cerise lips; the very lips that used to have the power to make or break him.  _ ‘Ashayam’  _ flashed through his mind, and it was almost enough for him to ‘collapse’, almost enough to wrap himself up in the cold unforgiving steel walls of the labs yet again.

_ “I can’t stop him, Seph… I’m sorry… I’m not your old Genesis anymore… ”  _

It came in a faint ‘whisper’, as though on the wings of the gentlest of breezes.

Abruptly, a ‘hand’ reached out and took his, noir; so black that it seemed to suck in the effervescence light haloing around it. And if he had a corporeal form, he could feel gusts of wind picking up speed around him, twisting and turning into a tornado; lifting him up and somehow Sephiroth could understand that when it was all over, it would let him go, let him crash to the mental ground he’d been searching for eons ago.

_ “Why did you lie when you promised him you’d take him to Hojo with you? It all started from that day in your apartment didn’t it? Why did you rape him? Why did you betray his trust? Did you even hear him confess his love for you? Why did you throw it away? Why? _ _ Why? _ _ Why? _ _ ” _

He wanted to say,  _ ‘I already told you this!’  _ but he knew it wouldn’t suffice. It had to be something more, something more greatly profound. And he knew he had to act quickly, that letting the older man into his psyche and then letting him lose his emotional moorings could be fatal to both of them. Reaching out, he swept a curtain of memory he’d left closed and darkened for what felt like eons away....drenched them both in it until he felt like it was going to open up and swallow him whole. Of Hojo threatening to put Genesis ‘out of commission’ if he didn’t acquiesce to more and more reconditioning, of losing himself...his sanity in the pain of it.  _ Please stop, please, please stop. _ Of being unable to distinguish from that pain and reality, of  _ hours  _ laid out on the gurney, watching through rolling eyes as his organs were lifted out of his abdominal cavity and examined with cruel, professional fingers...as Hojo snarled at him to keep reciting doctrine despite the pain. 

Pain translated into a confusing, all-encompassing rage, as that rage became a black shadow in his psyche. As Genesis’ rejection of his efforts left him reeling, swallowed by that darkness, by the horrible, screaming wave of hunger that never seemed to get enough, that never seemed to be enough.  _ And you can’t tell him, you can’t tell him, we can’t tell him.  _ Of the feeling of his mind being torn to shreds as those thoughts...those  _ dark, beautiful  _ thoughts flooded his psyche, as he lay next to redhead in bed and tried to quell the slavering, ravenous bloodlust that seemed to consume him. ...Of Angeal recoiling from him in the VR room, of the panic of the redhead’s rejection, the further deterioration of his mind. The act in itself...the despair of not being able to stop...the knowledge that he would never be able to right what he’d done wrong...the acceptance that he would never be what he’d been created to be.

_ Perfect. _

_ Monsters aren’t perfect. _

Of waking up with the knowledge of his actions, of his nearly two-week long suicide attempt via starvation and dehydration...the _shame_ of being too cowardly to end his life by skewering himself on Masamune...the acknowledgement that maybe he didn’t deserve to die. Dragged back to the labs, forced into revitalization only to be tortured to the brinks of his demise, over and over and over again. Death, _death,_ and _more death…_ Genesis’ death and waking up next to a picture perfect version of him...a version of him without calluses that whispered false love... morning after morning until he rose from dreams of blood to find himself drenched in it, to look over and see that familiar visage slack in the throes of death...wrists slit open. 

Of the incredulous screams that had burst from his throat...of the despair that rose up and took him from behind to swallow him whole.  _ No, nononono not  _ **_again._ ** Of Hojo’s death...of ripping that black...red..still-beating heart out of that corrupt chest and throwing it to the ground as the others looked on. The discovery of his origins...of  _ Jenova... _ of the loss of everything he was. The hate for humanity that had been borne from that discovery. His death via mako absorption...the horror of the Lifestream, of having his humanity stripped away and left a hollow, cold, agonized shell filled to the brim with pain. Rebirth, the acknowledgement of his ‘purpose’...Icicle Inn, those between, Junon and the death of Zack. His accidental killing of Gillian and he  _ hadn’t meant to do it  _ was  _ sorry, so sorry  _ but she  **fell.** Lucrecia...his mother...the woman who had given birth to him and then turned from him...abandoned him to what he had been brought into the world for in the first place….

_...Genesis _

Knowing he was alive, the sight of the redhead before him. And it was both torture and agony and  _ finally.  _ Wanting nothing more than to sink into eternal sleep, of his resignation to death...and he couldn’t anymore. Distantly, Sephiroth was aware of how loud his psyche was, of the fact that he was practically screaming with the torment of each burning recollection. And he relived it, every night, every day, every  _ dream  _ was wrought in this existential monstrosity of ill-got deeds and it wouldn’t “ _ stop-!” _

_ “-Please fucking kill me!” _

_ “Stop asking me to kill you!” _

The other ‘yelled’ just as loudly as him, their ‘words’ rolling and coagulating together, coupling together as though they were two sound waves with half period phase difference, negating one another into the static that followed. 

The ‘hand’ that was holding his was still clutching. The tornado around him was suffused with blackened waves of memories, with the malevolent promise of drowning him, the walls of the vortex closing in around him and it seemed like Sephiroth was falling into the deepest of oceans, into the darkest of its chasms. And he might as well be… letting the redhead see everything his eyes had witnessed, everything his consciousness had  _ suffered  _ and  _ inflicted _ had left him drained. But the ex-General still held his ground, still held the ‘hand’ that the speckles of darkness lingering in him hearkened to, and accepted whatever Genesis would inflict upon him. 

All of a sudden, all was gone.

Except for the singularity connected to his mental manifestation.

_ “The materia had been tampered with…”  _

The ‘voice’ seemed to come from everywhere and all at once, low but strong. A flash of their spar on Sister Ray mako cannon, of Angeal’s sword breaking and tearing into a black pauldron covering a red-clad shoulder.

_ “I killed my foster parents…” _

The image of brilliant brown curls as a red gloved hand caressed them, the face of the woman that had forced their relationship into the light of day.  _ “Because if they hadn’t meddled, we would have been...happy…”  _ Of slashing a delicate throat, of forcing his sword into a ribcage as Mortimer Rhapsodos lay motionless with terrified eyes against a wall inside a lavish study. Of a redhead sitting in the middle of the carnage and screaming with mental pain.

The image changed into a shore, a battalion of soldiers and infantryman armed to the teeth. The feeling of betrayal, flashes of his face and Angeal’s… of fighting a losing battle. Another memory, and it was like the stage of the Loveless play they had gone together in a lifetime ago; the curtain rising and falling, and rising to a Genesis strapped onto a gurney, scraping wrists and ankles raw against metal shackles under those hands that were so familiar, so cold and so uncaring. Of a chest cracked open in the very same surgical fashion that was Hojo’s signature. The sense of fear, of disbelief and profound despair as a black leather jacket descended down a metal staircase, and pain… insurmountable grief. A blurring visage. Of warm hands. The sense of terrible sorrow of never being able to see the emerald eyes that were staring back at him, of never hearing that voice again.

And the curtain fell again.

Darkness.

Unshakable concentration. Toil. 

A barren oasis spread all around him, and right ‘in front of’ him was Genesis. Effervescent and beautiful. Yards of pearlescent ‘skin’, and the ‘hand’ holding his was just as luminous as the rest of the metaphysical manifestation of his physicality. Those shimmering auburn tresses ran down the magnificent arc of a pale neck, longer than he remembered them when they had a falling out, when he’d last held onto the redhead’s failing body. But his companion wasn’t looking at him.

In the center of that chiseled chest was an ugly jagged scar, unhealing and necrotic; as black as the plumage extending over the scarlet-haired man’s left shoulder.

_ “I’m broken…  Too broken for anything, for anyone… I need time… to heal.” _

But there was a question behind those ‘words’. It came out in a faint withering ‘noise’, almost indiscernible against the wave of acceptance that washed over him; that seemed to run through his metaphysical ‘veins’ via the junction of their joint hands, shimmering with blinding light.

_ “Do you still love me… as broken as I am?” _

And Genesis slowly, agonizingly raised his ‘head’… a proud ‘chin’, pale rubicund ‘lips’, and breathtaking azure ‘eyes’ that were ‘gazing’ into his soul with unconditional love.

Sephiroth wanted to deny it. Not because he didn’t  _ want  _ it, but because a part of him didn’t think that he could reciprocate enough...that he himself wasn’t enough. And they were both broken, he acknowledged. Both of them were broken in ways that normal, humanistic individuals could never repair. But neither of them were humanistic or normal, and he’d never felt  _ relieved  _ to acknowledge something like that before...their lack of typicality...but he did. Because in their oddness they were an ethereal manifestation that maybe, maybe could become something. Not in a romantic sense-he wasn't so far gone as to think of romanticism yet-but in a healing sense. The silver-haired man didn’t let himself move forward, even though he ached to. Restraint was a difficult thing, but he wouldn’t give in to lack of restraint ever again. Instead, he let the reality of his affections rise to the forefront, sent them forward...let them encompass the both of them until it seemed as if they were encased in an iridescent storm of silver light shot through with thousands of colors. It illuminated the ‘space’ in which they existed, stretched forth and became something breathable, something physical and whole and  _ one.  _ He poured the contents of whatever remained of his soul into it...into breathless faith...into the knowledge of the perpetuity , of the perfidy of perpetuity. Because if he could give anything, it was what was left of him...of what was left of them and what was and would ever be. 

_ “I still love you…”  _ He ‘whispered.’  _ “I will always love you...irrevocably, continually.”  _

_ “These violent delights have violent ends…” _ Pressing a ‘hand’ to his ‘heart’, he closed his ‘eyes’.  _ “I don’t need that...I don’t need that violence...you give me peace. And if you take your brokenness, and my brokenness and put them together...maybe we can make a whole...I don't know what kind of whole...and I don't know when...not now...and if it doesn’t happen...I’m just happy you’re here. I don’t need you to be who you were...you will always be perfect to me.”  _ The sigh that passed between his 'lips’ was like the rustle of Autumn leaves... tremulous...like the trill of a soundless flute.  _ “You know...or I think you know that my heart has only ever belonged to you. I squandered that once...I won’t ever be so foolish as to do so again. I admire because you’re strong...stronger than I am. And you did nothing to have to garner such strength, but you did it anyway. I've always admired you...but you honor me with this.” _ A slight shiver of bitterness, of derision, and he ‘smiled.’ _ “Not in the way you’re thinking...in an existential way...a way that transcends duty...you say you’re broken. Imperfect pearls are the most valuable of all...because they reflect that which the viewer would never see...and there has been and never will be the likes of you again. So yes, Genesis...I adore you, I don’t deserve you, I love you. As you are, as you were, as you ever will be.” _

The ‘hand’ holding his held ‘tighter’, and in that moment Sephiroth was accosted with a vague sense of time turning back, of ashes and smoke coming together into smoldering embers glowing anew as fire kindled, rising high and higher, and then receding, the glowing hues fading back and revealing a bridge that connected the shore of his consciousness to that of the individual in front of him. And Genesis… Genesis was still ‘looking’ at him, the fringes of those red lashes fluttering closed slowly only to open yet again, and the redhead was ‘smiling’ tenderly, affectionately with those cerulean irises that always looked at him as though he was a god. The corners of those pale ‘lips’ quirked imperceptibly upwards, and the sensation of peace and their mutual love, their mutual understanding was paramount.

Until, the silver-haired man realized the egress of the presence haloing his neurons with an effervescent light, those luminescent ‘fingers’ slipping through his, but Genesis was still ‘smiling’ as he started fading away.

_ “I’ll talk to you soon…” _

And before silence and nothingness returned, a phrase flashed through the forefront of his mind.

_ “Ashayam…” _

And now Sephiroth knew what it meant…what it had always meant. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling in the absolute darkness of the room, it felt like his pupils had dilated so much that they might never return to their normal size when the lights were turned on again in the ‘morning’. Genesis knew that vein of thought was really ridiculous, but with nothing to occupy his mind, that was all he could do. What he wouldn’t give for a book, or anything really, just something not grey...

Rapier was on the floor exactly where he had left it for the past days, months, who knew.

Genesis sighed, turning to his side on the cot.

On the eve of his arrival, after getting his cognizance back, the moment the cool of Rapier’s hilt had settled in the palm of his hand, the threat had blared through the room, ricocheting off the walls, deafening and yet neutral. Genesis had stood there rooted in place until his legs had been starting to feel numb from the pain, until his spine had felt like it was _this_ close to snapping in two. The decision to try and end his life had come rather swiftly, and the same words had been repeated. He’d then sat in a crumpled heap, clutching at the red strands for another eternity.

Then Sephiroth’s ‘father’ had come to talk to him, and the scarlet-haired soldier had wanted to scoff, but after who-knows-how-many weeks of spending time in confinement, it was nice to hear his own voice again; begrudgingly, he’d acknowledged that it was also nice to hear another individual talk to him. When the microphone on the wall had whirred and come to life, his first question had been about Sephiroth, for which he had received static, and instead another query about his well-being or rather lack thereof.

Before the Vincent Visit… and that was how he measured his time now. Before the Vincent Visit, the passage of time was marked by the meals that came through the box, and the lights going off and on.

After the Vincent Visit, he’d started passing his ‘day’s pacing around like a caged animal, circling around the mocking ruby of his sword over and over and over until he’d been dizzy with vertigo; had started quoting Loveless only to figure out by the seventh recitation that he was going to lose his mind if he kept at it. Then he’d started forgoing meals, taking them from the box-only because they wouldn’t stop blasting that emotionless Sword of Damocles over and over-and flushing the mushy tasteless thing down the toilet. Watching the vortex of water meal after meal, he’d thought about drowning himself in the basin only to realize that still, his life wasn’t his own; even after what Angeal had told him, even after what he’d _promised_ him in the park. Genesis had only drank water… for an entirety of twenty-one meals, which maybe had equalled to a ‘week’. By the end of it, he’d been so weak that getting up from his bed had nearly spurred his heart into tachycardia, and his lungs were burning like he’d run from Junon to Midgar.

Immediately, the same threat had roared yet again… and the former Commander had given up. Slowly rehabilitating, this time accepting the meals he’d been given through the box in the wall, which assumably was at least three feet thick, he’d decided to just stay in bed and do nothing, which ended up being the reason of the happenstance of the Showering Incident. He’d screamed himself hoarse under the spray as though the water was acid burning and peeling his skin, calling Angeal names until he’d reached motherfucker only to clasp a hand over his mouth. And he’d suddenly remembered what his former comrade had accused Sephiroth of committing. The memory of that day hit him full force and he’d mentally crumbled until he’d been accosted with a mental image… the depiction of what the silver-haired man had retold of the events of that day, and there had been something weird about it. It had felt real somehow, as though he was reliving it through the eyes of another.

That thought had been enough to give him a heart attack, because _no no no;_ he’d behaved, he’d done nothing, _he’d done nothing_ , and what if they had killed Sephiroth? So many ‘what if’s and questions unanswered; the pain, the hopeless helplessness and the grief that vein of thought evoked in him had been rather profound. And then, he had remembered how he’d felt the younger man’s agony as Angeal had yanked on the magnificent arc of a sable wing, of how he had felt the pommel of Buster Sword connect with a head of silvery hair, and that had been the start of his Morning Ritual phase.

‘Morning’ after ‘morning’, Genesis had tried to rewire his brain, tried to reverse-engineer what had happened that day; almost like trying to crack his skull open and move his hands about the brain matter until he’d been able to establish some sort of connection. It had been taxing at first… The amount of focus, concentration and awareness he’d put into it had been almost enough to make him want to collapse in bed and sleep for a ‘week’. The redhead had realized it probably had something to do with Lifestream, like what had happened in the Synaptic Net Dive, like he’d seen Sephiroth manipulate those wispy dark tendrils in their fight because not only it had been exhausting him physically, it’d been straining his magic resources. On the other hand, his endeavors at getting the individual to respond kept being rebuffed, over and over. But he wasn’t Genesis Rhapsodos if he stopped trying, and also, he hadn’t been sure if it had something to do with the man on the other end or with the connection itself. Furthermore, he was a personal believer that practice made perfect.

Then the Nightmares had come; bleeding into his dreams and filling it with blood and horror until he woke up doused in cold sweat, crawled into himself because he hadn’t been able to understand. In ‘daytime’, there had been a ‘dam’ at the end of the ‘bridge’ he’d been trying to build, and at ‘night’, Dark Nations had been crawling up the walls of his mind; clawing and gnashing at everything in their path. And those images…the scarlet-haired man had known for a fact that the terrors he’d been facing weren’t his own. So, he’d doubled his efforts and suddenly the ‘dam’ had been no more, and Genesis hadn’t been ready for it, hadn’t been ready for what met his ‘eyes’; he had fled, on the wings of his consciousness and behind the metaphysical manifestation of a ‘barrier’, he had curled in on his own awareness, because he hadn’t been ready to face Sephiroth.

And the green-eyed former General was alive. That had been all that mattered.

The scarlet-haired ex-First had withdrawn all his efforts, no longer trying to maintain the connection, and that had in turn triggered his Great Depression. Because now that Sephiroth was alive, and now that he couldn’t kill himself because that would only serve to annihilate the man he’d tried so hard to protect, he hadn’t known what else to do; he hadn’t known how to answer the virulent questions that robbed sleep from his eyes at ‘night’. He hadn’t known how to make peace with the fact that the man Genesis still loved somewhere deep inside him, had been the one to put an end to Gillian Hewley’s life; after all that she had given to the redhead, after what she’d given to the silver-haired man on their very short visit. By the end of the ‘week’, his personality had been fracturing anew, neurosis pushing against the fissure in his mind harder and harder that it’d only been days before it’d have been ripped asunder. He’d been afraid of Rapier and at the same time, he hadn’t been able to get away from it more than a couple of steps. Because as much as G didn’t care about Sephiroth’s life and wanted _out_ , Genesis couldn’t allow him that… because that would’ve only doomed them to an eternity of torment, of being a walking, living, breathing corpse.

So he had turned to the only thing that could possibly, probably keep him sane; the only thing that could keep his thoughts at bay due to the sheer focus he had to put into the gesture, and that had left him here; tossing and turning in his bed, insomniac. The image of a sleepless night at Mideel flashed in front of his eyes; the very hours before the first time he had spaced out…

He still didn’t understand what had happened; how his degradation had healed, how his wing was as it had been the very first time he’d discovered it, how he didn’t space out anymore… But dwelling on it had never given him any answers, so there was no use thinking about it now.

The redhead hadn’t spoken to Sephiroth for a ‘day’ and several unknown hours. It had been really hard, the temptation of communication so strong, the bridge they had rebuilt together just within reach, but Genesis had needed time to sort his thoughts; to replenish his prowess. The silver-haired man hadn’t tried approaching him either, or at least hadn’t tried to push through, and that spoke volumes of the trust the younger ex-First was putting in him considering the bleak reality and cruelty of their current arrangements.

Rubbing his hands across his face and through his hair, Genesis faced the wall beside his bed; curling into a fetal position, clasping his hands together against his heart and closed his eyes. Keeping Sephiroth’s name at the forefront of his focus, he tried to reach out; could almost feel the soothing caress of some entity against his consciousness as he ‘sauntered’ across the ‘bridge’, as he ‘raised’ his ‘hand’ to gently ‘touch’ a metaphysical ‘shoulder’ as would a friend.

 _“Sephiroth…”_ He ‘whispered’, faint, so as not to rouse the younger man if he was asleep, but with no less affection, with no less love… And it still surprised him, to see it coloring the ‘utterance’ he had issued, to see it surviving despite all that had been thrown their way, all that had gone wrong within their relationship. It filled him with a strange sense of resolve, of relief. Suddenly, Genesis realized that he was ‘standing’ in their shared ‘space’ and he couldn’t just let his emotions run amok like that, because if Sephiroth had been asleep, he was probably awakened with the intensity of those feelings.

At first, he began to wonder if the younger man was coming. The former General’s side of the ‘room’ remained empty for some time. It was different here-he reflected-without the two of them. The walls seemed overly-large, almost imposing in their impenetrability. Then, slowly...the younger man’s presence took form before him. It was soft at first, like the dim glow of a silver-gold ember in a dying fire. Gradually, it grew...tentatively...and Genesis understood that the younger man was giving him time to retreat, should he want to. Ever the careful one, ever sensitive and cognizant of his needs in a way he didn’t seem to be capable of being with anyone else. Sephiroth’s approach was like the slow roll of a gentle tide...like water against shore. Psychic ‘eyes’ observed him carefully, patiently as his mental omnipresence gathered solidity...as it grew in front of him and then settled...almost as if the former General was sitting down. He didn’t approach; this was also quickly becoming a norm. The Sephiroth in his memories was quick to touch, quick to affirm his presence in any way possible. Here, now, his former comrade was merely attendant...preserverant.

Sephiroth felt tired.

What little the redhead could glean from his psyche was wrought with exhaustion. If they’d been facing each other in the physical world, he knew immediately that those beryl eyes would be framed with dark shadows. The younger man had always seemed haunted...even when they first met...but this was different. This was weariness on a scale that he didn’t think he’d ever encountered in him before. The clinical part of him acknowledged that it was likely the confinement. As accustomed as his companion was to it, it still wasn’t something he liked. Sephiroth had been locked behind sterile walls and doorless rooms for the majority of his life. ...And now here he was, back where he’d begun. As if sensing his metaphysical scrutiny, the ex-SOLDIER retreated somewhat behind his shields...but it didn’t change the sense he was receiving of a man preyed upon. A part of him whispered _‘good’;_ because if the silver-haired man understood the gravity of his actions, he should feel them just as keenly. The gentler part of him wanted to reach out, wanted to soothe him...but he couldn’t.

That separation between humanistic gestures and self-preservation was a prevalent thing. He was-in essence-afraid of opening himself up again, because he wasn’t sure if he would survive it if things went South. And survival was a base concept...he was aware…but it was also all he’d known...all _they_ had known for so long. Yet despite his reticence, the man before him never seemed to resent his distance. With profound sadness-which he immediately shoved away-Genesis realized he was looking at the world the way Sephiroth had looked at it his entire life. Everything the emerald-eyed man in front of him had ever known was survival. The world had always been this bitter, painful place filled with hate...nothing about that had changed. It was why he was so reticent about their relationship initially, why he had so much trouble with understanding others...and why his decision to leave Shinra had been such an awful, soul-shattering thing. Realistically, his companion had always been in this room...always been shored up behind high walls manufactured from horror and terror. The former Commander had only recently become privy to what that state of mind was like.

_“Genesis…”_

A greeting that wasn’t exactly a greeting. The aforementioned man would never really know how he managed to do that...speak his name and imbue a thousand things behind it. Welcome, gentleness, affection, reassurance….it was wrapped up in his psychical salutation like an eloquent gift wrought in simplicity. When they’d first met, the blue-eyed ex-First had assumed his silence was an indication of his willingness to bend...of his servitude to Shinra. He’d quickly learned that Sephiroth’s vocal reticence was a shield hiding a complex, deeply passionate individual. And while that passion might not have been particularly obvious to anyone else, it was there for him. It was _always_ there for him. Even when they were fighting, the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER had always been wholeheartedly present...emotionally present in a way he didn’t seem capable of being with anyone else. Bitterly, Genesis wondered what made him so fucking special. Yet still...here Sephiroth was...exhausted, almost haggard...and yet willing to drag himself from whatever mental hell he’d created to ‘sit’ before him and speak his name like a eulogy.

And like always, Genesis couldn’t stop himself from doing the very thing that was against his better judgment, against his rules for the other relationships-as fleeting as they’d been-he’d had, not necessarily but against his own survival perhaps…something he couldn’t seem to do with any other individual than the one standing before him…to _give_. Slowly, hesitatingly he ‘stepped’ forward, closing his ‘eyes’ as he searched through his recollections that were probably ‘floating’ and flashing all ‘around’ him until he found one imbued with a sense of peace, if a bit tinged with sadness. Concentrating, the non-being around them was filled with the ‘sound’ of the ocean lapping against a shore, sand expanding and extending from ‘underneath’ his ‘feet’ only to meet the blue-green that lapped at it with frothy waves. The scenery of the beach was vacant of people, steely clouds covering the ‘sky’ over their ‘heads’. In reality, there might have been a gentle breeze dancing here and there, but even right now, maintaining an imagery so vast was almost hard for him. Coming to a ‘standstill’, he offered a ‘hand’ in the very same fashion the silver-haired man had done in their previous encounter.

_“Walk with me?”_

‘Watching’ that pale ‘face’, those haunted tired ‘eyes’ made him want to do anything to take the exhaustion away. If he could, Genesis wanted to box their nightmares and throw it down into the deep, to watch it as it descended, never to be seen again. But he knew that wouldn’t work…that it was bound to resurface someday, so they had to somehow make peace with it, to accept it, and to let go and move on. They couldn’t keep reliving the past, they couldn’t let it haunt them forever because surely, before long, they’d both go insane.

It was easier said than done.

For an infinitesimal moment, the thought of both of them doing something that would trigger the threat simultaneously emerged in his thoughts, but the former Commander pushed it back, focused on the here and the now. On a childhood memory of a visit to the Costa Del Sol. Right at that moment, a lonely redheaded child passed him ‘by’, kicking up sand as he went, and the scarlet-haired ex-First ‘looked up’ at his companion.

Sephiroth’s ‘gaze’ followed that lanky, forlorn back, and the affection that spilled from his psyche was almost enough to make Genesis want to hit him. Because realistically, this was so long ago...so much a part of his past. But if he’d learned anything about the younger man during their time together, it was that he was eternally nostalgic. Waves crashed against yellow sand...a melodic backdrop to a moment suspended in time. Slowly, the silver-haired man accepted his ‘hand’, wrapped fingers of light around them until he felt like his mental appendage was suffused with warmth. It was a tenuous closeness; an acknowledgement of love, of the perceived loss of love and the possibility of that love growing into something new...something different. They ‘stepped’ forward... passed over the ghosts of seashells and scattered coral; over barnacles and tangled seaweed as the salty spray of the ocean flew up and dissipated. Above, a flock of seagulls belted out jarring, unmusical stanzas...the edges of their wings blurred as the parameters of the memory was stretched beyond recollection. Beyond the dunes, the ‘world’ he’d conjured was fuzzy and somewhat ethereal, and the knowledge that they walked within an illusion was very much forefront.

‘Looking’ ahead, Genesis watched with an edge of bitterness as the younger version of him ran up to a nanny, his arms filled with something unidentifiable-something his mind couldn’t quite recall-only to be rebuked. Black and white lace...a stern expression...that was the culmination of his time as a youth. Further still was an umbrella under which he knew his mother would be sitting. She didn’t spare a glance his way as he tumbled over to her in the hopes of some form of affection. That was how it always was; that bone-deep loneliness...that wish for something beautiful. Opulence was only beautiful if you didn’t look at it very hard, if you didn’t try to define it as more than material. Watching as Rebecca finally lost her patience and swatted him away, he found that he had very few regrets when it came to killing her or his father. They had never shown him kindness or mercy, and so they had received none in return. Sephiroth’s aura was dark, but he sensed that it wasn’t directed at him. Those green ‘eyes’ gazed forward with profound grief...with resentment and a kind of longing he didn’t really understand. He caught a glimpse of a woman encased in crystal...the sense of regret...of uncertainty.

_“You deserved better…”_

As though with a brush of a stroke, the image of his childhood self, the umbrella, and his mother blurred and was smeared away. Concentration returning to the fore as he tried to use his imagination to continue drawing the rest of the beach-even if it was just a loop of the previous images-in watercolor hues. The sandy shore stretched before them, blurring around the edges as though he was ‘looking’ at it from behind a pane of misted glass. The ocean kept lapping at the yellow specs, slowly, however it was barren, with no promise of more seashells, or messages inside a bottle. Just aqua…an intermingling of azure and emerald, rolling into a gentle caress and then white bubbles of air…the ingress of sea and an egress of earth, vice versa, forever consumed in a dance…

Recollections were about to spill over his psych, before he bottled them up.

 _“That’s all in the past…”_ He ‘whispered’, focusing his ‘gaze’ to what was ‘in front of’ them as he tried to reshape the nonexistence around them into something peaceful, free from tendrils of sadness, of bitterness that seemed to be forever weaved into his soul. Genesis wanted to be free of them, unfettered by the shackles that had always bound him, that had dragged him down and under. ‘Looking’ at his companion, the redhead couldn’t help but think about how the silver-haired individual had been fettered, chained by bonds forced unto him, bonds of others’ making wrapped and woven around the younger man so tight until Sephiroth couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live…and maybe, those chains-his and the other’s-were what had led them here.

The former Commander realized that, again, this was something they both needed to do.

Suddenly, he was accosted with a vision of himself reaching out to cradle the side of a pale face, and before it could sprint free, Genesis slammed a wall in front of the thought, hoping that his ex-lover hadn’t noticed it through their connection. Instead, he turned to ‘look’ at the direction he’d seen the glimpse of the woman inside crystalized mako who the scarlet-haired ex-First had come to know as Lucrecia, Sephiroth’s mother. Redrawing from the vision the green-eyed soldier had shown him a couple of moments ago and in their previous rendezvous, his ‘hand’ tightened around the luminescent ‘fingers’ holding around his. Pushing forward acceptance, understanding and _longing_ , a faint ‘whisper’ of _‘You don’t have to tell me…’_ before he actually ‘spoke’.

_“What happened?”_

If Sephiroth had caught a glimpse of the previous vision, he didn't mention it. The image of the woman grew stronger...became something painful and impossible. It was-the redhead acknowledged-a reflection of the younger man’s pain...of the dull, enraged agony that had held him in thrall for so long. And the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was conflicted by whatever he had done...that much was clear. There was confusion there...guilt and turmoil and a deep well of resentment. He was gifted with another image-neither of theirs, he realized-a recollection from another mind...of a wailing baby yanked from his screaming mother before she even got the chance to hold him. Of an ache that seemed to come from his companion's soul...of a wish that would never be. Of how she had whispered love and then given nothing...of the knowledge that he was equally castoff and useless.

_“She gave me my humanity back…”_

It was a half-truth, and both of them knew it. There was the sense of blackness unfolding... snippets of grief and anger and blood. Of that crystal shattering as Masamune ran straight through it. And it wasn't enough then...it wasn't enough now, because her death had brought the man beside him nothing...no peace, no answers...only a bottomless pit of self-loathing.

 _“I hated her for it...for making me feel again...but if she hadn't...I would have razed this world to ruin without a single thought…. without remorse_ .” There was the sensation of retreat, as if the green-eyed man couldn't handle their discussion any longer...but he remained. _“I killed her because she killed any chance that I had at a normal life when she chose to stand in a cave and succumb to grief.”_ That silver 'head’ lifted to stare upwards _. “But now I know grief...I know what it's like to give up on something you thought was going to be your entire world for the rest of your life. I didn't have the ability to discern between intent and the consequences of intent. I know better than to act without thought, but I acted within the singular locus of my own thoughts...my own reasoning...I didn't think of her. Of how Hojo must have treated her...of how frightened she must have been.”_ A flicker, much like the shake of a head. _“And it's not an excuse for neglect, but I have taken as much as I've been given and more...her life wasn't mine to take.”_

All was ‘silent’ around them, the scenery frozen in a moment that seemed to stretch onwards into eternity.

Genesis was at a loss for ‘words’, for ‘thoughts’. Whatever Sephiroth had let on, he’d felt as though it was the silver-haired man’s, but no matter how strong their connection, no matter how tangible their bond, the redheaded ex-SOLDIER knew that it wasn’t the exact same thing. He wanted to wrap the imagery surrounding them around, over and over; to pour as many positive feelings he could conjure at the moment, even at the expense of himself, so that maybe it would be enough, so that they might negate a portion of that grief, a part of that guilt… but he knew he couldn’t. Once, a long time ago, an older version of himself might have reached over and embraced the green-eyed ex-First; would have showered him with affection and loving words, would’ve whispered sweet nothings into the pale shell of an ear… and Genesis wanted to let go of the ‘hand’ holding his because his companion already had had enough pain, and the images of what-could-have-been wouldn’t help soothe the seemingly never-ending well of self-loathing and resentment, wouldn’t assuage the anguish and the grief.

It seemed that their new love might never be enough to heal them both after all.

More silence; and the former Commander wondered if that was all he had to offer, wondered if ‘words’ were a better choice. Opting for vague sensations, the scarlet-haired man brought to fore how he’d always seen Sephiroth before everything had crumbled to dust. Of brilliance and cunning. Of strong stubborn will. Of being a survivor. Of being honorable and just. Of how the green-eyed ex-General was deserving of all the good things the world had to offer. Of being exceptionally beautiful, despite all the blood, all the nightmares and demons, within and without. Of how the men respected and trusted him; of unconditional loyalty, of love, transcending any shape or form. Of how Genesis had loved him, and somehow still did.

And he could feel the thoughts swelling on his companion’s side, ready to spill forth as soon as he was finished, but the blue-eyed man ‘stepped in front of’ his ex-lover, put a ‘finger’ to those ‘lips’ as though it would silence Sephiroth’s ruminations, as though it would be enough to quell them, to keep them at bay.

 _“I didn’t have a mother to know, but from what Gillian showed me…  I think she might have already accepted what you did… Maybe she gave you the right. I don’t know her, I never will, but if stories are ever true, maybe she still loves you…”_ Genesis ‘looked’ away, withdrawing from their connection slowly, but surely. _“I don’t know if that would ever be enough…”_

Sephiroth didn’t chase him.

He felt-intimately-the way his egress was nearly enough to cause the younger man’s ‘collapse’, of his _desire_ to pursue, but his reticence not to. Mentioning Gillian alone brought a blue-white streak between them...as if the former General’s psyche was weeping...forlorn and lonely and exhausted. It was like rain...like the slow march of an advancing storm over something bright and beautiful. There was another shift-the sense of the ex-SOLDIER collecting himself as he prepared for his absence-another tapestry...the scene of a waterfall...of the hiss of fluid current, sunlight, rippling water clear as glass and a yellow fish. Strangely, the older man didn’t see the ‘old’ version of himself there...there was nothing save for that solitary, silver figure gazing out onto a green and gold horizon. Warm wind and soft birdsong and a profound sense of peace. He realized that this was likely where his companion went when he was alone, that he was accustomed to this...this beautiful and yet singularly bereft scene. Beyond this, the roil of grief was apparent, but he was also accosted with the sense of something different...something less physical and more metaphysical. Green ‘eyes’ turned to look at him, heavy with thought like they always had been...always would be…

 _“Genesis...I believe I’m giving you the impression that I want more from you. I don’t. I’m...grateful to have you here, as you are. I’m not here to pioneer something fantastical from nothing. I know this is going to take work. You’re still reluctant around me, and I think you feel like you need to be more than that. You don’t.”_ A gesture that seemed to encompass the entirety of the younger man’s physical form. _“This...isn’t you. This isn’t your fault. There are numerous truths that I need to face...deaths I need to account for. You killed people in Deepground, that leaves scars. But I killed mothers...children....infants. Hundreds of them. People who didn’t serve any regime, people who wanted to live their lives, who barely had a chance to live their lives. I hear their screams every time I close my eyes. I am not going to repay that debt. So...this pain...you’re not causing it. It’s not your fault, and I don’t want you to think that. I don’t want you to shoulder something that isn’t yours.”_ The sense of existential weariness grew deeper...until it almost seemed to bleed into him. _“I never wanted a mother”_ was the ‘toneless’ response. _“I...have regrets, but those regrets don’t equate to goals...to personal goals. I don’t want to change it, I just want to let it go.”_ Silver ‘lashes’ dusted pale ‘cheeks.’ _“I love you, Genesis. I only want you.”_ When no answer was forthcoming, a bleak...empty sort of sensation shuddered between them before it was clamped down upon...hidden behind a thin veil. _“Gillian was as close to perfect as anyone I’ve ever met...but if it came down to choosing her or you...I would still choose you.”_

It occurred to him that Sephiroth was waiting for him. That the scene conjured before him was certainly a memory, but it was also a hope. And the Genesis as the younger man remembered from that particular memory wasn’t there because Sephiroth didn’t _want_ him…didn’t need who he used to be. It was painful, because while the silver-haired man was obviously willing to accept him for who he was, the redhead didn’t know if he could accept himself on his own. He was afraid that shadow was always going to be a virulent, tattered remnant of everything that had been. And Sephiroth wasn’t waiting for his emotionalism, he was simply waiting for his willingness to work alongside him, to survive with him. The sensation of his intent was underscored by a monumental amount of affection, but it was an unconditional...patient affection...one that didn’t want for anything...didn’t need romantic phrases or flowery assurances. A little bitterly, Genesis wondered when the younger man had gotten so dreadfully mature about this.

Hovering somewhere in between being and non-being, the scarlet-haired ex-First hesitated. He tried holding back the thought process that was deliberating, not having to maintain the ‘scenery’ making it easier on him to do so while he ‘spoke’.

 _“I don’t think you want more from me. There’s always been, and still is, this desire…”_ A brief pause, and if he’d sustained his manifestation, his ‘hands’ would be clasped over his ‘heart’ just as they were in the reality of his cell. _“Inside of me, to give you more… and I’m conflicted, I’m afraid as I was back then, even more…”_ Rosso’s face flashed in his mind, and Genesis thought that Sephiroth deserved to know, and he let him know, let him ‘see’ as he continued. _“Deepground were like us… they hadn’t wanted their lives to end up the way they had. I was killing the brothers and sisters I never had, who hadn’t wronged me; people who just wanted their freedom to live their lives, who barely had the chance to.”_

And why was it so hard to tear apart these chains, even if he had to sacrifice pieces of himself; clearly Sephiroth wanted the same, he wanted to let go, and be free of what haunted them. And maybe, maybe, if they worked together, if they finally decided to help mend each other’s wounds, maybe they could get somewhere, as far as they could in their confinement and maybe even more. And he wanted to thrash, to rip everything asunder and begin anew, but that was unrealistic; that was one of those foolish hopes he no longer had the luxury of holding onto.

Heal, then.

Remedy.

And while he had been reluctant at first-because it was the younger man’s sanctuary-while he had wanted to hold back his mental image from taking ‘form’, Genesis let it happen and returned, fully, wholeheartedly. And even more. The older man ‘embraced’ his companion, just as he had on the eve of his confession in Banora, splayed his ‘hands’ over Sephiroth’s ‘heart’; let the emotions that had washed over him every time they had been in each others arms seep through their connection as he ‘whispered’. _“I love you… Help me heal, and let me heal you… Help me help us let go…”_

And if he thought that Sephiroth’s ‘collapse’ at the idea of Gillian was passionate, this was about ten times more so. The silver-haired man stilled at the advance of his mental touch, as if he didn’t know what was happening...as if the face of the redhead’s affection, of his entreaty, was more than he could handle without doing something regrettable. His psychic form shivered violently, seemed to surge with a riot of emotions before it settled on something deep, dark blue...something that felt like grief and yet it wasn’t grief...it was deeper than that. And Genesis acknowledged that it was relief as much as it was pain...and that pain was echoed within him...that relief was echoed within him. So when familiar mental ‘fingers’ rose to clasp his in a tender but firm grip, when the green-eyed ex-First seemed to sag with it, seemed to find a kind of quiet in his nearness, he understood. Neither of them were particularly fantastic with expressing emotions...especially when it came to their own misgivings, their fears. They had never been good at it, and the physical was the only way they’d ever seemed to find a common ground. Not in the sense of prurient touch, but in the sense of comfort. And the redhead’s mind flashed to the myriad of moments between them before; of how Sephiroth would seek his hand...his shoulder... _anything_ in moments of emotional tumult. How he himself was swift to reach out and lock onto a vambrace, how that closeness was translated into touch.

 _“I want to.”_ The younger man’s ‘voice’ was hoarse with feeling. _“I’m trying to, but you have to let me.”_ A pause, and his companion ‘swayed’ forward...as if the culmination of their conversation was too much for him, before pulling back. _“Genesis...none of that is your fault, you didn’t ask for that. And they didn’t ask for that either, I’m not diminishing the gravidity of their deaths, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were trying to survive. The actions behind survival...they matter so little...so_ little _compared to your intent.”_ Another shiver, and the ‘hands’ over his made as if to stroke across his ‘knuckles’ before apparently thinking better of it. _“I love you”_ he continued. _“And the reason I love you is because you’ve always balanced me...you’ve always given to me when it mattered most. Those traits...those generosities, they don’t go away.”_ Green ‘eyes’ flickered to the hands clasped at his chest...suffused with softness, with adoration. _“You’re still giving, even if you don’t know it.”_ He seemed to hesitate before continuing. _“I want you to answer me this, with complete honesty. If you had stayed in Deepground, would you have been proud of what you were? Because if not...I don’t see anyone any different than the man who chose freedom over Shinra. The man who chose verity over confinement.”_ A mental nudge, tender...supplicative. _“That doesn’t make you a bad person...if anything, it makes you a_ ** _better_** _person. Because most people would choose to serve over risking their lives to get out of it. That’s bravery, that’s strength at its most powerful. You’re incredible to me.”_

Genesis ‘shuddered’ with the emotions surging through their connection, with the ‘words’ that were being ‘uttered’ to him. Releasing a shaky cerebral ‘breath’, he tried to accept those words… and it was hard; it felt like his very mind was going to fracture with it, because behind it all, behind the masks and complicated thought processes-that maybe weren’t complicated at all, but jumbled up and messy-behind the _complex_ emotions-that maybe weren’t complex at all, but a hot coagulative mess-was an ocean of self-loathing and the ever-present fear of never being enough, never being good enough. A somnolent yet sinister part, buried deep within the cracks in his psyche whispered that this was surviving, all over again; that it was all there was, and would be of their lives, something so inherently different from actually living, the short time that they had, what seemed like ages ago.

His metaphysical self flickered with his endeavors, and the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER had to stop before their connection collapsed underneath the psychic effort it took for him to overcome years and years of abuse to no avail.

 _“I know you’re trying… You were trying before, as you are now… I used to hold onto it, let it fuel me forward… I did the same thing again, and it was destructive… I guess you’re right about survival… and you already know about Deepground, you already know me so much, more than anyone ever has… Intimately.”_ Closing azure ‘eyes’, he continued. _“I’ll let you, and I’m letting you now… I’m trying… it just takes time. For both of us.”_ There was a short ‘period’ of ‘silence’. And Genesis focused on his affections, on determination, of stubborn strength _coupled_ with stubborn will. _“Now you listen to me. You’re beautiful, your mind, your soul… You’re strong, incredibly so. You tell me I’m brilliant, but you are also, just as much and even more. You have to see that, you have to believe it as I believe in you.”_ A ‘chuckle’. _“I know… first I have to try taking my own advice.”_

Stepping back, he ‘looked’ into those emerald ‘irises’, the same faint ‘smile’ as before stretching over his ‘lips’. _“I don’t want your reticence… not anymore. At least not now. Come to me whenever you want and I will do the same… Deal?”_

Sephiroth’s emotions always seemed virulently flattening. His anger, his sadness...his tiredness; all of it was powerful and shot through with different ‘colors’. As the redhead ‘spoke’, a soft glow seemed to grow before them; golden like a new rising sun...full...like heavy fruit and it bloomed inside his chest until he felt like he was going to _explode._ It took him a moment to realize that the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was deliriously happy...because Sephiroth’s psychic happy was a lot like falling over. The iridescence of it bloomed, curled outwards into something not unlike bursts of pollen that seemed to shiver forth...like lightening bugs filled to the brim with joy. And the love that followed was a blue wave...tall and yet somehow unthreatening..it loomed before him only to crash down, to soak his metaphysical visage in something pure, something that was singularly theirs. Solar brilliance, oceanic tide and the rock-solid foundations of the man before him. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER drew him without words, lifted love from the stars and cast their lingering, astral light of it at his feet.

_“Deal.”_

And he knew, realistically, that he ought to question that promise. Because Sephiroth had a track record of finding loopholes...of ducking his way under and over things that didn’t make much sense in retrospect. But if they were going to establish a foundation of trust, they would need to build it on something. This was as good a place as any. And no matter how much they endured, he couldn’t base that trust on absolutely nothing. It was frightening to put his faith into something that he never thought he’d have again...into love. Love in of itself was a _terrifying_ concept...especially for him. At the same time, he knew it was equally frightening for the man before him, that the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER was as focused on effort as he was. Acknowledging it and accepting it were two different things, but they were both trying...and that was all they could do. This wasn’t only about healing, it was about creating something new...because they couldn’t focus on who they were before, it was too painful for both of them.

For the first time, in what seemed a long time, Genesis smiled and ‘smiled’, bright like new morning sun as he came to stand ‘beside’ the solitary silver-haired figure at the edge of the falls, holding onto ‘fingers’ made of ethereal light. Verses of poetry swelled inside his ‘chest’ and he let them flow through their intertwined ‘hands’ instead of ‘speaking’ them, and it was a lot like letting his ‘heart’ float on them as though on a crystal clear river meandering inside a secret garden. He didn’t know if Sephiroth was waiting for him inside that garden to take his ‘heart’ or if that stream led to the dark blue ocean of his companion’s love, but he let it go.

_‘K’diwa,_

_Lest you forget; freefall is not beyond measurement;_

_and we are not alone in the essence of eternity._

_But I would catch the sunlight of the most distant body, to keep your heart._

_And how I love thee, beyond words or gestures._

_For you are my universe, and I am but a pinprick star…_

_...In your magnificent sky.’_

He let his happiness filter through the green leaves of the trees, let his love twirl and dance ‘around’ them in an endearing ‘zephyr’ as he closed his ‘eyes’ and tipped his ‘head’ back. Here, together, now, he felt peaceful.

Genesis wondered, fleetingly, that maybe, just maybe, this could be his home after all.

Again.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Time was an illusion. 

Sitting in the middle of his cell staring at his hands, Sephiroth acknowledged that temporal passage was an amelioration of something he could not feasibly anecdote. Wherever he- _ they- _ were, the slow roil of days was nothing but an assumed definition. The lights never dimmed, and the little ambience he could discern from outside never changed. It was like they were living in an entirely different universe. It was different from his childhood confinement because he’d at least been privy to a door...to books and studies and tutelage. This was stagnance...idleness to the point that he didn’t know what or who he was sometimes. In the off moments...when he couldn’t think or feel past the idea of his own physicality, he would imagine that he was simply in a state of stasis. That he’d remain there until the world crumbled to rot and no one would remember his name save for the man confined with him. And maybe they would rot too...maybe they would eventually become naught but ash in this invisible, worldless place. Strangely, the idea didn’t depress him. If anything, the concept of nonexistence was comforting. 

It took him two-thousand, four-hundred eighty-two minutes to count every divot in each wall like it was something important. Imperfections...structural flaws that didn’t corrupt the idealism of where he was...but it was something to concentrate on. It was easy to focus on constants, on things that would never change because that was what he had always done. And he was  _ loathe  _ to his lack of mental creativity, but it felt like he didn’t have time for anything else. Which-in of itself-was a ridiculous notion. He had all the time in the world. Occasionally, he entertained the notion of release...decades from now...of looking into a mirror and seeing that he’d aged without watching himself age. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER would put his hands to his face...smooth them over his cheeks and try to envision wrinkles and sunspots. He couldn’t do it. Not because he was afraid of aging, but because the idea of such a long stretch of time incarcerated was a fearful concept. 

Drawing his knees up to his chin, Sephiroth bowed his head and closed his eyes...letting his hair fall forward to hide his visage. Vincent had been to visit again. They’d talked this time, though it was awkward and stilted. He didn’t want to apologize for Lucrecia because it felt like a hollow statement. Saying that he was sorry she was dead was untrue because he didn’t know her. It was impossible to miss someone he didn’t know. And while the ebon-haired gunslinger seemed to be trying very hard to reach him, the younger man didn’t know how to reach back. Their conversation consisted of the scarlet-eyed ex-Turk giving historical anecdotes of his life...of the things he had seen and experienced. They had a lot in common, more than he’d have liked to admit. Aside from their looks, it was obvious his father was a man of few words. Both of them needed breaks...needed to step away for a moment before being able to talk to each other again. Moreover, he didn’t know exactly what his sire was getting from their conversations...only that he appeared to be trying to understand him...and it was impossible to do that because Sephiroth didn’t understand himself. 

He didn’t know how to feel about talking to Genesis.

A large part of him was quietly elated... _ relieved  _ for that little bit of human contact he would never have gotten otherwise. The fact that it was the man he’d been longing for just seemed too good to be true. He knew-of course-that everything about their current situation was a reality...as tangible as the air he was currently breathing. But he couldn't help but stop and wonder at it every so often...at how he had gotten so incredibly lucky. Rigorously, he tried to shove the part of him that screamed he didn’t deserve such good fortune away. Not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew that Genesis wouldn’t appreciate it. Both of them were trying to let go, trying to move forward, and wallowing wouldn’t do either of them any good. It was harder when he was alone...to concentrate on the positives. Having someone in your mind wasn’t the same as having them next to you, but he would take what he could get...and in a way...he sensed that this was easier than it would have been had they been physically able to reach each other. 

Over time, their rapport had improved. It wasn’t horrible initially, but both of them were reticent about reaching out...afraid of hurting each other...hurting themselves. At length, they discussed the time they’d spent away from each other…the internal transformations that they’d been forced to undergo in order to survive. Genesis’ time in Deepground was a kaleidoscope of shattered recollections. Pain, rage, hurt...whenever he talked about it, his mind was a grayscale landscape that was one part grief and one part terrible nostalgia. He could understand...because he’d been a part of SOLDIER far longer and he knew what it was like to be a slave to a regime that never seemed to have your best interests in mind. He understood what it was like to bend over backwards only to be broken in half. A part of him acknowledged that there was a beauty to servitude, to being so willing to fracture so that something else could garner free reign...just because you didn’t know anything else. 

He didn’t know how to feel about ‘G.’ 

Genesis mentioned him offhandedly, nonchalantly, like he was a curiosity in an antique shop that had hopped off the shelf and embedded itself in his psyche. Sephiroth knew better. He was of two minds about it. There was a virulent part of him that disliked ‘G’ with every fiber of his being...for the simple reason that he was a component of the redhead that probably knew him better than he did at this point...a component that often took over and said horrible, terrible things to him that often didn’t make much sense. Yet another facet of his mentality acknowledged that ‘G’ was the reason Genesis was still alive, the reason he had persevered despite everything. With that in mind...he couldn’t hate him...he didn’t know if he could  _ ‘love’  _ him, because he didn’t know if he was a permanent facet of the older man’s consciousness...and he was desperately afraid of latching on to something that was only going to leave again. With all of that in mind…’G’ was still Genesis...he was just a darker, more bitter part of him...so when he  _ did  _ manifest, Sephiroth did his best to show him as much care and as much benevolence as he did the main component.

They fought occasionally.

Not violently, as they had initially. Most of their disagreements surrounded their respective guilt...their culpability in terms of their actions. Ironically, it constantly seemed like they were defending each other in face of themselves. If the former General said something self-flagellating, his companion was quick to correct him...sometimes very rudely. Likewise, if the blue-eyed ex-First became-in his opinion-too enmired in his prior deeds, Sephiroth was oftentimes a little too swift to ameliorate his opinions. It was a little painful, because they had spent so much of their time prior to the redhead’s absence defending themselves. The contrast between who they had been and who they were was often so stark it left him dizzy. That confusion was echoed in his former comrade...sometimes to the point where it felt like he was looking into a mirror. There were days when he despairingly wondered if they would  _ ever  _ be able to regain some semblance of common ground...days when Genesis would revert to ‘G’ and scream obscenities at him until he wanted to curl into himself and disappear. Likewise, there were days when the younger man couldn’t pull himself from his guilt no matter what the redhead did...no matter what was said.

It was slow, but they made progress.

Soft moments...tender moments between the turmoil...he found himself living for them. They gave him hope in a place where there seemed to be none. A ‘touch’...a ‘look’...a ‘smile’ with white teeth and laughing blue eyes and he wanted to  _ breathe  _ it into himself...wanted to drag his fingers through it...sink himself into the essence of those precious...standstill stanzas and forget that anything else existed. As time wore on that sense of peace became somewhat less of a rarity and more of a regularity. They relearned each other, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. And if the words came with more difficulty than either of them might want...that was okay. It was different-he reflected-so different than before. Because he’d always felt a need to fill that space...to suffuse it with something that wasn’t there. Now, they could reside with each other without the need for constant conversation. He hated to think that everything they’d gone through had forced them to mature...but it had. 

_ “Come to me...whenever you feel like it…” _

Lifting his head, the silver-haired man forced himself to rise...to cross the enclosed space to the cot. He’d discovered that it was easier to spend so much time enmired in their mental spaces when his body was in a somewhat comfortable position. Lying down, he closed his eyes and allowed the physical world to melt away. It was hard to take that initiative, sometimes...not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t really think he had earned it. But he wasn’t going to question Genesis’ motivations...not now. Not with everything that was behind and before them. It was harder for him to reach that ‘bridge’ than it seemed to be for the redhead...he wasn’t exactly sure why. It might have been something to do with so much time spent in the Lifestream...he wasn’t exactly sure what impermanent death did to the brain...and he didn’t exactly want to. Fighting his way through threads of conscious and subconscious, the former General exhaled with relief as the ‘causeway’ became a ‘visual’ manifestation...as the ‘room’ they’d built garnered solidity until it was something of substance. The redhead wasn’t there...but he hadn’t exactly been expecting him to be. Reaching a questing, careful tendril forward...Sephiroth closed his eyes and threw forth a thrumming query...watching as it was snatched away...as it dissipated into the empty space before him…

_ “Genesis…”  _

It took a ‘while’. The sense of the redhead’s presence began blooming inside the void surrounding him, but it was scattered like cherry blossoms in a wind and yet at the same time omnipresent, whole. Slowly, the darkness started lightening a couple of shades, becoming a dark indigo as diamonds shining with astral light came into being, twinkling all ‘around’ him. The perfect circle of a full moon was illuminating the scenery with an ethereal luminescence, giving everything an almost magical feel. There was the sense of profound peace flowing with the nonexistent breeze that was rustling the bushes and lush shrubbery on the hill Sephiroth was currently standing on. Expanding down below were emerald and golden plantations swaying to and fro as the waves of sea; orchards of Banora White trees and fronds. The silver-haired man knew that at the edge of the horizon there was a thin strip of ocean currently indiscernible from the cloudless star-studded welkin. And at the edge of the hill, with his feet dangling over, Genesis’ metaphysical form began weaving together with otherworldly irradiant threads of light, lying on the ground.

_ “There is no hate, only joy; for you are beloved…”  _ There was a long pause, a gentle shake of a fiery head before his companion continued. _ “By the goddess. Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds.”  _

That brilliant head of auburn tresses tilted toward him, smiling azure eyes gazing at him, beckoning him as a hand gently brushed across the grass beside the redhead. 

_ “Join me.” _

The utterance was unnecessary as the silver-haired man felt his ‘feet’ move forward of their own accord, and it wasn’t strange. Because in their past relationship, he’d always gravitated toward Genesis as though spell-bound, as though those ivory digits currently threading through short untrimmed stalks of grass pulled at invisible yet tangible strings that drew Sephiroth inexorably close, as they were doing now.

_ “I was thinking earlier how you always had me under your spell…”  _ Those cerulean pools were following his movements as he came to a stand, towering over his companion, and those high cheekbones were dusted with just the slightest shade of roseate as the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER whispered.

And Sephiroth wanted to laugh, because it was  _ Genesis  _ who had always compelled him...who had always drawn him in with seemingly no effort at all. With a clever word, a touch, a smirk...everything about the redhead was irresistible and undeniable. Trying to work against him was like the tide trying to resist the moon; impossible. If anyone had ever been under a spell in their relationship, it was him. Because no one could hold him in thrall as the man before him could. And-not for the first time-he found himself wondering  _ why... _ but in the end...it didn’t really matter. He acknowledged-offhandedly-that the redhead was in a good mood today. Some part of him was thankful for it,  _ grateful  _ that he got these moments with him...peaceful, tangible moments filled with just the edge of tentative teasing, of laughter and love. Slowly, so as not to startle him, the former General sank to the ground next to the blue-eyed man...throwing his gaze forward as he did so. His ability to create such landscapes wasn’t half so powerful as his partner’s. There were times when he was utterly in awe of his imaginative prowess. Realistically, he was clinically minded...analytical; Genesis was the maestro of vague concepts...of making something beautiful from empty space. 

He wondered offhandedly if it was possible to love someone simply because of all the things they could do. Someone more skeptical might scoff at it, but he was beginning to think it was true. Sephiroth had never appreciated anyone based on aesthetic alone...there had to be material in them that made them worth his time. Offhandedly, he acknowledged that he’d known Genesis was worth his time the moment he set eyes on him. Standing in a line of recruits with his fiery hair and blazing eyes and he’d  _ known  _ what he wanted the minute he looked at him. And-of course-he’d immediately panicked and translated that desire into a poor facade of cool indifference. Maybe that was why they’d always been at odds before...always butting heads instead of finding some sort of camaraderie. Because Sephiroth had took one look at Genesis and known he would never,  _ never  _ be able to say no to him if he let him in. 

_ “Enchanted…”  _ He murmured. When the scarlet-haired ex-First threw him a questioning glance, he smiled crookedly. “ _ If I had you under a spell...then you had-you  _ **_have_ ** _ me-utterly enchanted.”  _

There was a soft peal of genuine laughter, the blush deepening in a stark contrast to those sharp blue eyes. Slowly, Genesis pulled himself up into a sitting position. Fingers intertwined with his as the redhead too, gazed ahead, a pleased nonchalant smile playing on his lips. 

_ “I sometimes think about how our paths might have crossed if I hadn’t joined SOLDIER. If I’d meet you in some dense rainforest in Wutai while you were scouting and I was having the adventure of my life… Childish I know… But I try to imagine how it would be… if I’d leave it all just to live in Midgar all over again… if I’d follow wherever you went… mission after mission…”  _ The blue-eyed man let go, hands cradling his own face as he continued, his voice not muffled by the gesture.  _ “I can’t seem to be able to stop thinking… ludicrous concepts really... about how the other us are living their lives at the moment. Trying to imagine a life without you seems like such a bleak lonely existence now…” _

It was so easy for Genesis to switch from the brightest of moods, to the darkest of spirits. It had always been. And it had always been just as startling for the silver-haired former General that his partner could traverse the ends of a spectrum so swiftly. It didn’t however, affect the atmosphere, and it showed that the redhead was probably holding the emotions back on his end of their bond; not letting them seep into the fabric of the canvas he’d crafted, like the darkest of ominous waters.

_ “How long do you think they’re going to keep us here? How long until we run out of subjects to talk about? Until we run out of tapestries to paint? Until these imaginary worlds just aren’t enough anymore?” _

For an infinitesimal instant, there was the vague sense that ‘G’ was going to push through, but nothing happened. Instead, some small shivering voice faintly whispered.  _ “Seph... I don’t want us to waste away like this.” _

Their world seemed to tremble slightly at those words, and for a moment it felt as though they were tiny figurines sitting inside a rickety maquette. Just as quickly, it came to a standstill before resuming its otherworldly state of magical and metaphysical nonexistence. 

If Genesis hadn’t been in SOLDIER he doubted that they’d have met. The stark truth of that was a little bit painful, but maybe it would have been better that way. The redhead could have whiled his life away in adventure...he in ignorance...and maybe they’d never have been wiser for it. At least one of them would still be alive...undamaged...unfettered. He didn’t know if the former Commander would be lonely; you couldn’t miss something you never knew you could have, after all. But it was still a facet of truth he didn’t like to think about...was too cowardly to face. His mind turned to the next question reluctantly; not because he hadn’t considered it before, but because he had considered it over and over and  _ over  _ and he’d never come up with a good venue of address. Realistically, he knew that they were here for life. Sephiroth hadn’t brought it up before because it didn’t seem like something positive...something with any semblance of hope. Escape was a fantasy...an illusion wrought from something he couldn’t name. He wasn’t willing to try it because both of them could end up dead, and if he escaped and Genesis didn’t...he was fairly positive he wouldn’t survive the guilt. There was...of course...the option of appeal, but he was pretty certain that that wouldn’t work either. Still...it didn’t hurt to try.

_ “I could...talk to Vincent.”  _ He said at length. When Genesis didn’t respond, he continued.  _ “He’s been to see me a few times; I don’t know. It’s-”  _ The environment around them rippled with his psychic laugh.  _ “-It’s a  _ **_very_ ** _ unlikely chance, but he might sympathize.”  _ A ‘shrug’.  _ “And just because he sympathizes doesn’t mean he thinks we should run free.”  _ Sephiroth hesitated.  _ “I don’t...I don’t think we should tell anyone about being able to communicate like this. They might try to separate us...to see if our psychic connection can withstand long distances...or they might...chip us...like they did to you in Deepground. I’m sure they’ve collected all the technology left from it.”  _ He shuddered inwardly.  _ “I don’t know if Angeal would do that, but if Administration pushed hard enough…”  _ He trailed off. 

...He didn’t know how heavily he could bank on his father for support. Automatically, he was certain Vincent would approach Angeal with it, but even Angeal’s word wasn’t law. He had no qualms about using them against each other, of that much he was certain. He’d been resentful of their relationship ever since he’d sensed that it was a possibility. Genesis had confirmed his suspicions, and the mere idea of it was enough to send him into a  _ rage.  _ Because it was unutterably hypocritical that the two people who might understand them the most had chosen this...incarceration over actually helping them. Vincent and Angeal got to be close to each other while their comrades were allowed to rot in a cell. While the single miracle of a psychological bond had been the only thing that prevented them from descending into madness. There had been no attempts at rehabilitation, and while he knew that it was unrealistic to expect anything, it still hurt. The idea that his former fellow soldier was...essentially... _ fucking  _ his father was so distasteful...such a flagrant abuse of everything that Angeal had to know about the gunslinger it made him sick. Because Vincent had chosen slumber over recompense; and he didn’t  _ care  _ how guilty he felt over it. No, he had no qualms about possibly turning them against each other if it got them their freedom; because Angeal had tried to turn Genesis against him and nearly succeeded. He didn’t care. 

_ “Have you heard from Angeal?”  _

His companion seemed to wilt, to deflate at the mention of the name. Sephiroth was accosted with a sense of loss, of death and betrayal before those long fingers unveiled that pale face. Genesis’ metaphysical appearance was thoughtful, looking at something and nothing at the same time as he would in real life. 

_ “No. I need to give him a piece of my mind but either we’re too lowly for his excellency to deign us with his presence or he’s simply too busy…”  _ The redhead trailed off, and the former General could almost hear both of the endings. Groaning inwardly which was outwardly in this place, a corner of those sanguine lips quirked into a smirk.  _ “Maybe you could ask Vincent to convince him to pay  _ **_me_ ** _ a visit at least. He owes me that much; after all, Angeal still believes that there’s still hope for my redemption.”  _ Those sharp blue eyes darted toward him.  _ “And the fact that you think I’d tell them about our connection is rather insulting.”  _

There was no anger behind those words, just irritated affection. 

Sephiroth knew his former comrade was withholding on his side of their bond, and although the scarlet-haired ex-First had asked him not to be reticent, he hadn’t requested that the green-eyed individual push for more. In fact, it was during their first encounter that the older man had bitterly suggested that he was forcing things on the redhead. 

There was also the matter of trust, he added mentally, and therefore the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was going to wait. Whenever Genesis was ready to talk or rather share his thoughts about this, he would come forward; and at his own pace. Sephiroth would wait, not because he didn’t want to know, but because they had time. Literally all the time in their desolate disunited worlds. 

The tip of a luminescent finger connected with his cheek, surprising in its tangibility; following that line of sight, cerulean irises were watching their point of psychic contact with an aura of wonder, of concentration, and the gentle curve of those luxurious lips was imbuing the sudden pleasantness of the redhead’s mood with a paradoxical tinge of somberness. Behind the gesture, there was also a deep vein of understanding. More fingers, and those disjointed touches were now a caress, a cradling of the side of his face, and his cerebral breath caught in his throat to find sapphire pools gazing straight through him. 

He didn't know what to do.

Genesis’ touch was a rare thing. Fleeting, sometimes a little bit errant... deliberately vague. And he was painfully cognizant of the reasoning behind that lack of contact. It was a shadowed thing of the past that stalked his blackest of nightmares; a slumbering monstrosity that woke in the witching hour to run him ragged with ruination. Sephiroth wanted to reciprocate, but he also needed permission to reciprocate...and the feeling of assent wasn’t enough this time. He’d need the redhead to verbally confirm his willingness to receive, and there was a part of him that was worried that if he  _ did  _ he would do something regrettable. The darkness that had haunted his mind for so long was nearly gone, but it wasn’t entirely absent. And he was afraid that if he gave in to his desires it would come back. In retrospect, it was highly unlikely but it was still a virulent fear. 

_ “I was just sharing my concerns.”  _ He replied, more to distract himself than anything.  _ “I didn’t-I  _ **_don’t-_ ** _ think you would do something like that.”  _ The former General forced himself not to lean into those fingers too much, to not appear so ravenously desperate.  _ “I’ll talk to Vincent, about Angeal seeing you. I think he’d be more willing to talk to you in any case.”  _ The derision that curled in his belly was unfounded, but he couldn’t help it.  _ “I don’t know why he hasn’t visited you already.”  _

Careful, familiar, soft, and the ache in his chest seemed to grow until it encompassed his entire being. With that ache was a deluge of self-hate, of regret. He couldn’t block it out entirely, couldn’t shield it all from the man beside him, and he felt those slender digits stiffen slightly as his psychological self-flagellation slipped through. Those blue eyes darkened and he reeled with the coagulation of emotions that came with them. Because he was  _ trying,  _ but he was also afraid of himself...and he hated himself for being so afraid of himself. It was like a never-ending wheel...a rotation of pain and peace. To make up for it, he psychically steeled himself; raised the hand furthest from his partner, brought it upwards slowly...gently...until the fingers just hovered over the ones touching his cheek. Letting his lids drop somewhat, he tilted his head...gazed downwards into cerulean irises…

_ “May I?”  _

_ “I’m not made of glass…”  _ Genesis whispered, and there was bitterness coiling around the last word, a black snake rearing its ugly head, slithering around and up a pale arm to come licking and hissing at his consciousness. That made him hesitate even more; because the redhead had said the exact same words before, and Sephiroth had broken him regardless; shattered him and watched as those shards scattered everywhere, uncaring, at least in that moment. 

_ “Stop.”  _ was the firm yet supplicative utterance.  _ “Don’t take us there... _ _ please _ _.” _

Blue eyes were looking away, and a streak of pain flashed between them before his companion reigned it in. It made him ache to try and comfort the man in front of him even more. At the same time, he realized that this was another chain in the very same cycle of being afraid and hating himself for that fear. Sephiroth knew that he had to stop, had to break out of it somehow, someday, but sometimes, he really didn’t know how.

Suddenly, it seemed that the scarlet-haired ex-First was closer, the touch on his face trailing toward the nape of his neck. Concentration and wonder returned to Genesis’ side of their connection, as if the redhead was coming upon yet another revelation of sorts. Slender fingers curled around his other hand-the one he hadn’t raised-and brought it up, slowly. The silver-haired man knew that Genesis was deliberating still. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his ruminations however, for which he was grateful. But then, underneath it all was a vein of fear; it wasn’t directed at him, which was surprising. It lingered, even as his hand came to rest upon the contour of his companion’s cheek, auburn lashes fluttering closed and then the initial peace of their surroundings returned, tenfold; the consteration was shrouded instantly, almost indiscernible, easy to forget in the face of something more momentous. 

What did you do in a moment that was so incomprehensibly tangible? When it seemed like something so infinitesimally precious was suspended in time? The younger man’s mind hearkened to the day the redhead had gotten him the bracelet...to how indescribably beautiful it had been...not because of its make or its origin, but because of the individual who had given it to him. It had been like receiving a piece of Genesis’ soul to wear on his wrist. Something bright and pure and unsullied that would always remain with him no matter where he went. It was long gone now...dissolved most likely in mako. Strangely, it seemed fitting. Because that chapter of their lives needed to close just as much as they needed this next chapter of their existence to open. And he’d never been very accepting of impermanence before...mostly because everything he’d known in life was this revolving wheel on perpetual horror...but he knew he needed to let it go. 

Sephiroth let his fingers spread, let it cup the contour of a pale cheek even as he sent out the most sincere wordless declaration of his affection as he could. It curled around them...bright and soft, like the caress of a thousand feathers until it settled between them. Bending his neck, the silver-haired man moved forward slowly, inch-by-inch, until they were cheek to cheek, until he could card the fingers previously covering the hand touching him through metaphysical locks. They were as soft as he remembered, as gloriously scarlet as he remembered. And somehow Genesis’ psychic closeness was more tangible than his physical closeness. He didn’t need his scent, the hard-soft give of his body to acknowledge his presence. It made something sweet bloom in his chest, sharp and suffused with a saccharine, soundless melody that was almost painful in its beauty. And he realized that it was the man before him that made such moments so beautiful. Even as the former Commander inhaled sharply, as the pad of a thumb curved across his cheekbones...the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER acknowledged that no one else could give him this tangibility, that this gift was singular to the man before him. Closing his eyes, Sephiroth let something nameless fly free...something that had constricted him for so long melting into ether as if it had never been; he would never forget it, but he wouldn’t hold on to it anymore. It wasn’t a desirous feeling, it didn’t bank on lust...instead, it was something more meaningful...something more concrete. He let himself rise with the sensation, with the trembling, pearlescent curl of it until it seemed to twine across his tongue…’till he shuddered with it.

_ “Gen…”  _

_ “Hush…” _

A finger was placed upon his lips, tenderness and caring flowing into him with the simple gesture, and then only a moment later Genesis closed the distance between them again, and again brought them together. Replaced that finger with the exquisite feel of his lips. Their first kiss in their new existence, in their new life. For a brief moment, Sephiroth mused that his partner’s name literally meaning ‘beginning’ might have something to do with it all, but the thought was quickly submerged in the ocean of roiling feelings that was suffusing them both; an ocean of love and longing, of understanding and acceptance, of respect and admiration, of joy and pain laced together. 

And the silver-haired man was drowning in it, descending deeper and deeper into the azure-emerald waters with the redhead holding onto him; and he could breathe as though his companion was breathing a new life into him, into his metaphysical veins. Genesis’ presence was omnipresent around him as though his partner was pouring his soul into this, giving with no bounds, always generous with him whereas he had never been with others. 

It wasn’t anything like any of their previous kisses. This-like other exchanges between them in this incorporeal world-was more tangible...more intimate. His mind was able to replicate the feel of the redhead’s mouth from muscle memory; the warmth of his lips...the silky slide of them across his as he gave himself to it...responded; slowly at first, and then with more ardor. But it was also not-unlike comparing it to Genesis kissing the very essence of his being; taking his soul and twining it with his until the intensity of it was a hot-warm burst of substance up the base of his spine...like a tree growing from psychical soil to bloom around latissimus dorsi, flowering betwixt trapezius to send forth shivering petals across the sternocleidomastoid. The silver-haired man’s response was automatic...ingrained from the trust he held for the older man despite everything that had gone wrong between them. And it seemed as if the universe should shiver to a halt; that the world should stop turning so they could remain in this moment for eternity.

Genesis was warm. Really, everything about him had always been warm. And Sephiroth wanted to drown in that temperance, in that sense of peace. At the same time, he acknowledged that he was getting impossibly aroused...that psychical desire was somehow more powerful than physical desire...and that the two combined were a heady thing. He wanted to push his tongue between those soft rubicund lips to lick into the moist cavern beyond. To savor the very essence of the man before him until it swallowed up the bitter aftertaste of despair and failure. Already, his hand had gravitated from the redhead's hair to his waist...pressed into the soft hollow of a hipbone as the other replaced it in those fiery locks...as his metaphysical body arched into the gesture. Breath was warm against his cheeks, like the soft brush of a feather against something fragile...something unnameable. And  _ Gaia  _ he  _ wanted... _ he wanted to kiss everything that had been done to them away, wanted to relearn the body before him until every scar was nothing but a reminder. More, and he was desperately aware of how close he was to his limits of reticence. Sephiroth was a man of great patience but Genesis was driving him  _ crazy- _

-He pulled away. 

Really, he yanked himself backwards and groaned. 

_ “Sorry.”  _

But Genesis wasn’t having any of it. Something twisted in the ether surrounding them, and there were already so many emotions crossing over their psychic bridge that it was starting to get really hard to differentiate them from one another. As those perfect luxurious lips closed over his yet again, their kiss this time open-mouthed, and  _ hot _ , the metaphysical form in his hands wasn’t warm anymore. His partner’s essence was made of flames, of zest and elan, emanating a vivacious fire that was engulfing his psyche only to pour over and into his physicality. Sephiroth couldn’t help but respond to it, couldn’t help but let that desire to relearn, that want to take away all the scars and the pain to be conveyed to the individual currently consuming him.

It seemed like they had been kissing for eons, the passage of time a relative thing, even more so in this timeless dimensionless tapestry the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER had painted with the vivid strokes of his imagination. By the time Genesis pulled away only slightly to lean his forehead against his, the mental manifestation of his ex-lover’s body was sitting in his lap, impossibly close; so close that his brain could almost fool him that this was real, and not a dream weaved by their joint psychic prowesses. The former Commander was smiling, those cerulean irises hidden behind fiery-wreathed eyelids as hot breath ghosted over Sephiroth’s parted lips.

Somewhere far away, at the back of his thought processes, another presence was getting nearer, its effect negligible and easy to forget in the face of the heady eidolon of his companion. Those azure eyes opened slowly, and it was enough for the silver-haired man to forget how to breathe.

_ “You’re feeling it too, aren’t you?” _

And Sephiroth wanted to blush roseate and say yes; that he was aroused and really it wasn’t his fault that Genesis was so attractive-...

“Sephiroth?”

The query echoed in the back of his head, too faint, but it was still enough to take away slightly from his concentration. The voice was familiar, but he quickly returned his focus to their connection, because whoever it was, it wasn’t more important than their time together, only to have it repeated yet again.

_ “Sephiroth?” _

“Sephiroth?” 

He knew that voice. Irritably, the silver-haired man acknowledged that this was the  _ worst  _ possible time for the owner of such voice to visit. That was easy enough to remedy, he thought distractedly, sucking at a plush lower lip. He could just ignore it. Surely Vincent would go away after a while. It wasn’t like he’d been doing anything untoward before he descended into the bridge anyway. He was just laying on a cot...in his cell. Green eyes snapped open as the reality of the physical situation slammed into him...the very  _ physical  _ situation. He could-faintly, through the haze of embarrassed panic-sense that Genesis was getting increasingly impatient with him. He pushed his partner’s rampant arousal aside in favor of logic. Because while his metaphysical self might be here, his realistic...alive self was  _ lying on a cot… _ in front of a surveillance camera, sporting a significant erection. He heard himself make a choked, horrified psychical sound...felt the reasoning behind it transfer to his lover. Genesis’ expression went from furious to surprised so fast he would have missed it if he’d blinked. He was further humiliated when the redhead looked dangerously close to laughing hysterically. 

_ “I-I have to go.”  _ His voice came out garbled, almost panicked in its utter mortification.  _ “I wish-”  _ the image of him sinking into a puddle passed between them and those beautiful lips pressed together as the blue-eyed man put forth a valiant suppressive effort. “ _ Gen-!”  _

_ “I guess I’ll have a word with you when you get back here then?”  _

Genesis was smiling, the expression lighting up sapphire eyes before the scenery started blurring out of focus around them. The redhead was still in his arms and before he, too, started fading away, another ephemeral but no less heated kiss was pressed against his lips and with that he felt his companion withdraw… the room they’d created getting more and more apparent, as well as the sudden feeling of being bereft and cold… without all those emotions and the blooming warmth of the scarlet-haired man’s presence in his psyche, Sephiroth could almost feel himself shiver. He pulled himself out almost immediately, so hard that the shock of it was enough to force his back to bow, enough to yank him straight upright. He didn’t want to be alone in that space...it was ugly without his partner. 

“ _ Sephiroth! _ ” 

Vincent’s voice was tinged with concern. It took a monumental effort to focus on it, to draw himself up from it and face reality. Almost immediately, he was disgusted with his own physicality. Because as much as he had enjoyed it, he’d also promised himself he wouldn’t let things get this far so soon. For some reason, it bothered him more than it should have. However, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Letting the lingering remains of arousal fade to the back of his mind, the silver-haired man cleared his throat and sat up, slung his legs over the edge of the cot and looked up at the ceiling. As long as the gunslinger was here, as long as he saw fit to interrupt him, he was going to use him. Because if there was anything Sephiroth was good at doing, it was using people. Blinking, he let a small smile grace his lips-knew his sire could see it from wherever the hidden camera was pointing. He had promised Genesis he was going to get Angeal to come to him...

“Vincent.” He said, with far more cordiality than he felt. Something dark stirred within him, and he wrangled it to his purpose. Wetting his lips, he brushed his hair back in a feigned gesture of insecurity. “Back so soon..?”

...he was going to do exactly that.

“...How are you, Dad?” 


	20. Chapter Twenty

His clothes had been strewn haphazardly across his cell while he’d lain there on his cot, his fingers tracing invisible patterns against his naked skin as his physicality responded to it. He’d tried chasing after the images they had conjured together, he’d tried reliving them over and over until the memory, or whatever it was called had been strained beyond recognition; until his neurons had been alight with the touch of his hands against his epidermis as he’d pretended it to be someone else’s. Until his body had been undulating with pleasure, and he hadn’t done something like that for  _ a really long time… _  He’d known they were watching, but he hadn’t been able to care any less… He’d been torn between moaning loudly, shamelessly as he’d slowly unraveled there, or keeping to himself. In the end, he’d come in white hot ribbons across his heated skin, his toes curling against the thin mattress, back arching off the bed and it was Sephiroth’s name on his lips like some sacrament, whispered voicelessly as he’d caught fire.

Standing under the spray of water as the crystalline droplets sluiced down his body in tiny rivulets, however, the thoughts had crashed through the dam and flooded his brain. Because  _ what had they been thinking _ ? What had Genesis been thinking when they had let it go like that? They were never going to be able to be within a hundred mile distance of one another, let alone be close enough to see, near enough to touch, to kiss… They would never be able to hear each other’s voices again. Hell, they’d never be able to see their own faces, until they were probably so old and decrepit they’d need help to take care of themselves. The thought had been enough for him to just let the water run down the drain while he’d sat down in one corner of the gray cube… and Genesis hadn’t been able to help but feel insignificant, invisible...if only it weren’t for the other individual who was just as incarcerated as he was. 

He hadn’t been able to fool himself into not seeing the reality of their situation anymore. It had been there before, the irreality of their connection-as beautiful and tangible and as monumental it was between the two of them-had been clear as the day from the very first moment. And Genesis had known he had to be grateful for it…that he had to hold onto it as though for dear life, because it was so precious to both of them… If they had any chance of surviving through this it was with that...if they had any chance at healing and being somewhat together it was through their unique bond. But what had happened had struck him with so much desire, so much want… 

To just be able to hold him, if only for one moment more.

So he’d just sat there, shivering with sodden auburn locks dripping perfect spheres of colorless fluid. He’d sat there unresponsive when Vincent had come to his visit, probably after visiting Sephiroth. The older man had tried persuading him to get up, to put on his clothes even if he didn’t want to speak up, but in the end had gotten nowhere with his meaningless hollow words. 

Genesis didn’t speak with Sephiroth after the Kiss incident for a couple of ‘days’. When he’d finally decided to break his silence, he’d come back to their bridge to find a red silk cloth awaiting him on his partner’s side. And the scarlet-haired man had almost taken yet another ‘day’ to prepare himself to reimagine that day for both of them… because he had wanted to, because the thought, the temptation of living that memorable day over and over again was just too irresistible, but in the end, when he’d felt his companion extend his ‘hand’ and accept his call, the former Commander hadn’t been able to do it. They didn’t speak about the kiss, or about why it had taken the older ex-First three ‘days’- _ or maybe it had been more? _ -to come back to their shared space, they had just lain there together in some bleak watercolor imagery of a beach, sharing comfortable silence which had been broken once in a while by the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER.

It took even longer for their next meeting. Genesis hadn’t counted the ‘days’ but maybe it had been another ‘week’, and when he’d come back, there were stones…or rather polished pebbles reminiscent of the ones at the bed of a crystal clear river. A river with a playful yellow fish, and a silver-haired man trying to catch said fish for insubordination...of sodden silver strands and a day to remember. The crimson-haired individual had almost ran away only to find his partner standing in front of him…with yet another pebble in a palm made of effervescent light. And he’d known then…that Sephiroth had come to this unwelcoming unlit room every single day, in hopes of seeing him but never pushing for more…never trying to impose on his self-inflicted silence. 

Genesis hadn’t even bothered to come up with a background. He’d been bitter…he’d been  _ angry  _ but it was all laced with so much pain, crippling...like his everyday routine of sitting there in a state of stasis. Stagnating. Rotting away. And Sephiroth had always deserved better…the younger man hadn’t deserved the words the redhead had spat in that gorgeous face…hadn’t deserved that for waiting for him everyday. And that had been what the former Commander had been  _ trying  _ to tell him, to make him see that this wasn’t going to work, that they weren’t going to work, and he’d abruptly left…had almost torn himself away from the connection and it had been horrible… It had been so ruinous and awful and jarring his mind was reeling with it for the next couple of ‘days’.

That had been the last time they’d spoken with each other.

The scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER had been to the bridge a couple more times...his presence barely there, and he’d been so surprised to see their only means of connection they had built together still there. He’d been surprised to see that Sephiroth hadn’t actually burnt it down to the ground. And even more so, because he’d also found a dumbapple there. And that meant, despite all those words he had spewed, despite all the anguish, anger and hopelessness and pain, his companion had forever invested a portion of his consciousness inside their connection; left it there for him to find, for him to know that should he ever want to resume things as they had been, or maybe as they hadn’t been and simply in continuation of all the events that led them to where they currently were, the silver-haired former General was waiting for him. 

Always patient.

After the Banora White Appearance, the most unlikely thing had happened.

By then, Genesis had simply stopped counting ‘days’, meals, the turning on and off of lights; his ‘days’ and ‘nights’ blurring together in a state of nonexistent until Angeal had come to finally pay him a visit. The redhead didn’t know what state he’d been in those moments, but it probably had been enough for his raven-haired former comrade’s voice to become riddled with worry with each passing second? Minute? When the newly instated General of the Shinra army had been thoroughly disappointed in coaxing a word out of him, the blue-eyed former Commander had finally found his voice; and it had broken with every word, with every sentence he’d spoken;  echoes of a distant past. And by the end of it, he had almost given in to the urge to do something violent to put himself out of his misery.

_ “You said you’d rather be in a world where the two of us are happy…and successful as comrades… than apart…imprisoned, and  _ **_miserable_ ** _ as lovers… I love him… I love him Angeal… You can ask Vincent how much…” _

Angeal had left then, and Genesis had wished for him to be crying, for him to feel how much pain he’d been forcing them to endure, but that too faded away as time ‘passed’. He hadn’t bothered to count… They had to threaten him with Sephiroth’s life yet again to force him to eat his meals and he really hadn’t bothered to put up a fight after he’d reached his breaking point. It’d been automatic response, robotic and soulless. He’d found himself less and less inclined to move from the bed, to wake up when his dreams returned to all those encounters they had envisioned in their minds, and the temptation to wade in their connection had become harder and harder to resist with each passing ‘day’. So, when he’d actually ended up lying on their bridge in his earliest waking ‘hours’ till he’d passed out from mental fatigue save for bathroom and meal breaks, it hadn’t been much of a surprise. He’d just never extended a hand, never made a sound for the silver-haired ex-First to know that he was there. His emotions, on the other hand, the redhead wasn’t sure if they existed anymore; there was really no need to push them back so they wouldn’t seep through, so they wouldn’t notify his companion that he was there.

With azure ‘eyes’ gazing at the nonexistence ‘in front of’ him, Genesis saw it change… but he couldn’t run away anymore, didn’t have the energy to, didn’t feel the need to…and then, Sephiroth was ‘there’…Beautiful. All flowing moonlight tresses that he never got tired of running his fingers through…Brilliant emerald eyes that held so much life, so many emotions, precious gems shining from underneath perfect bows of silvery lashes as they brushed those high cheekbones. The perfect bow of pale lips he wanted to trace with his fingertips over and over… Pearlescent alabaster and those fingers that were made of iridescent light…and hanging loosely around a strong wrist, was the bracelet  _ he  _ had given to him…mako stones he had gathered from his missions…the design he’d fashioned so it’d be even more one of a kind, if that was possible… Just like the person he’d given it to.

It was yet another token, just like the other ones from before. No less significant and tangible, if not even more so.

Something swelled inside his chest, but it was quickly pushed down, quenched by the coldness that had been extending its icy claws inside him. For a moment, the redhead wondered if the silver-haired man saw a frozen corpse lying in front of him... He hadn’t held back on his thoughts so, Sephiroth must have ‘heard’ what he’d just ‘said’ too. The former Commander couldn’t just maintain the effort to do anything about it. His hand still ‘lay’ where it had for the entirety of the time he’d been present in their shared space, extended toward the other occupant of the unlit room, palm up and fingers curling in their relaxed state. There was really no need to move, no need to do anything to voice his thoughts...because they were  _ already  _ in their thoughts. Genesis let his ‘eyes’ flutter shut. 

_ “Sephiroth…” _

It was at the same time loving, affectionate, and at the same time tired, supplicative. The silver-haired man didn’t answer, didn’t respond to him at first. His presence within the bond was hesitant...almost  _ timid  _ if anything about the younger man could be called timid. He sensed, rather than saw that the former General was waiting for him to leave again, that he was giving him the chance to walk away if he needed to. For a moment, he was tempted...but some part of him refrained for a reason he couldn’t name. More than that, he was also aware that Sephiroth’s mental threads were somewhat ragged...that whatever was holding him there was doing so with a monumental amount of effort. It didn’t look like the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER was in mortal danger, but something about his psyche was unraveling. Not in the way that it had with Jenova, but in an exhausted, despairing manner that was somehow more disturbing than his madness had ever been. Moving forward, the younger man knelt before him in his usual sinuous uncurling of silver and alabaster. He knelt and then crawled forward, until their bodies were level with each other, before turning about and lying down on his back beside him. 

_ “Genesis.”  _

Again, his name. Suffused with a thousand things no other person could say with such brevity. Love, respect, admiration, wonder, verity...and this time, hurt. It was very obvious that the silver-haired man was trying to hide it, that he was burying it under all the other prevalent emotions that came before it. Still, there was no missing that undertone...that sliver of shivering, light blue thread...like the ghost of a lingering raindrop remaining on a windowsill hours after the storm. Green eyes stared upwards, into the void above them as if it would give him some sort of answer he had no clear directions towards. There was the sense of tremulous inhalation...of initial hesitancy...and then the ‘meeting room’ at the centrifuge of their mental link faded away…dissolved into a swirl of cerebral colors only to form into something more material...something different. 

Sephiroth’s projection was the strongest he had ever seen coming from him. 

They were at the edge of what appeared to be a field of grass. Really...it was more like a plain...because the green carpet around them stretched onward in all directions until there was nothing else in sight. Slender fronds seemed to sway in a breeze that came from everywhere at once...that seemed to rush inwards in a slow transparent spiral to the center of whatever was before them. They were also standing, another testament to the younger man’s ability to move that which was formless. There was a rustle to the left, and Genesis startled somewhat to see another, different Sephiroth step forward...this one translucent, almost ethereal in form...as if he had transferred from a different plane in order to make his presence there something solid. The ‘copy’ of the younger man stepped forward...but it was slow...almost as if he was underwater. Those beryl eyes were pale gemstones of grief, a grief so strong it shook him to his core. Swallowing, the former Commander forced himself to focus forward...to look ahead at what appeared to be a massive, dying tree. Really, nothing about it seemed remotely alive at all. And as the phantom-esque former General moved beside them, a slight tug on the redhead’s hand pulled him inexorably in the same direction. 

He didn’t look at his companion, not because he didn’t want to, but because this was entirely different on a scale that he’d never seen before. He sensed-at once-that this was both a memory and yet not a memory. It was too strong, too powerful to be something from the physical world. It was-in a sense-so large in its metaphysical magnitude that it was nearly intimidating. As they grew closer to the dying tree, it quickly became apparent that the extra General was not the only added facet to this scene. Genesis stiffened as he himself came into view...though it wasn’t himself...not as he was currently. The Genesis standing beneath the tall, towering branches was swathed in red leather, Rapier gleaming at his belt as he gazed upwards. Healthy, whole and somehow so  _ different,  _ almost a veritable stranger in comparison to who he was now...the sight of him made the blue-eyed ex-First want to turn and run...but something held him there. 

They stopped perhaps eight feet away, watching as their echo-selves converged, as the slow-moving Sephiroth trudged forward to stand next to the shimmering projection of him under the tree. For a moment, neither figure spoke. Then, slowly, as if it took considerable effort to do so, the silver-haired man spoke. It was slow, strained...almost slurred in its quality. An apology...it was an apology, and yet somehow it was also a plea. The psychic Genesis didn’t respond...didn’t react for a long time. A branch dropped to the ground with a cacophonous noise, and for some reason the copy of the green-eyed ex-First seemed to shudder as if in pain. 

“You motherfucker.” 

A scarlet head turned, and the expression on ‘his’ face was almost enough to make his skin crawl with relational agony. That smile, that twisted...pained and yet mocking smile as a red-leather clad hand rose...it was familiar. The sentiment was repeated, and then those fingers were yanking the other Sephiroth forward, placing his hand flat against the trunk of the tree. The ache of watching it crumble felt like an open wound in the redhead’s chest. The limbs fell first, and then the internal structure of it followed. 

“You motherfucker, I  _ loved  _ you.”

Genesis exhaled in a hard, agonized rush even as the scene froze...as the fallen tree and the two copies of them faded into dust...until only the field remained. For a long moment, there was silence. And then Sephiroth spoke.

_ “It was a dream.”  _ He murmured, his voice both wistful and pained.  _ “I had it after you...after I thought you’d died...every night.”  _ A shudder, and the tall frame next to him flickered somewhat, as if the agony of the memory was too much.  _ “I didn’t understand what it meant at the time, I was too far gone. But now I’m starting to see it...just a little bit.”  _ Peeking out from under crimson lashes, Genesis watched as the younger man closed his eyes.  _ “I thought that the tree was me...but it was us...the embodiment of what we were.”  _ A gesture, and the ground trembled somewhat. The former Commander watched as the flat, new grass where the tree had once stood split somewhat...and a small...lime green tendril shot out. Rapidly, it grew...and while it quickly became apparent it wasn’t the same type of tree...it was alive...and significantly more beautiful.  _ “You’re very...concentrated on the physicality of this...of what we mean to each other externally.”  _ A soft chuckle.  _ “Genesis, I am happy to be with you here...and the specifics of it...it doesn’t matter to me.”  _ The sapling grew yet more, sported fragile pink blooms that shivered in the directionless breeze...it was a sakura tree.  _ “I’m not saying that I don’t want to leave, that the specifics of this...our imprisonment..that it doesn’t matter. I regret it, more than that, I regret bringing you into it.”  _

His partner turned, paced forward somewhat until he was standing in front of him. And then, slowly, he got to his knees. Slender, careful fingers of light reached forward to grasp both of his. Brought them upwards until they hovered before his lips, until he could kiss each and every knuckle. When he brought his lips away, those beryl irises were warm.

_ “Genesis...you’re enough. And if anything, your mentality is the essence of who you are. Bodies wither, they die...but you, the essence of you...that lasts. You are always going to be beautiful to me, no matter where we are. Not because of your physicality, but because of your mentality.”  _ His neck tilted tilted to the side.  _ “You’re beautiful…”  _ those hands lifted somewhat, presenting him his own palms briefly before lowering them again.  _ “Here…”  _ An arm was relinquished to reach upwards, to press against his heart.  _ “But you’re more beautiful here.”  _ That head of silver hair dropped forward to lean against him…to inhale. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, pleading.  _ “Don’t...don’t give up, please. I can’t make this new without you.” _

Genesis closed his ‘eyes’, leaned into the touch with everything he had, because the want for this had driven him up to this point in the first place; because he had always gotten what he’d wanted, not freely of course, as everyone might have believed the circumstances to be. He’d always fought tooth and nail to get to the place he’d envisioned for himself all his life. With Shinra, with SOLDIER, with Sephiroth…and even later, with Deepground. A part of him whispered that it was the same for his companion, even more so, because the younger man had to have fought for every second spent in liberty when the slightest failure could have been enough to put him in confinement, or even to death. It made him falter… Really, it made him ‘sag’ inside those strong arms, and even as much as he wanted them to let him go, he wanted them to hold on. 

‘Standing’ where he was, a million doppelgangers of them started visualizing, as though they were now standing inside a kaleidoscope, and then not so much. Different words, different reactions and responses as the other Genesises and Sephiroths enacted and reenacted the various outcomes of the choice his companion had put in front of him. The redhead didn’t want to see any of them anymore…and just as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished into dust, only to be swept away by the breeze dancing in the dream. 

Nuzzling his head ‘under’ the hollow of Sephiroth’s neck, the former Commander tried to reign in the very thoughts and emotions he’d put a damper on for the past couple of ‘weeks’- _ or was it months now? _ -and he was exhausted from feeling too much and then not feeling anything. He’d been constantly dancing to and fro from one extreme to another, and this wasn’t healthy. While he might not have cared about his own well-being, it was affecting the other individual present in their shared space. It was unacceptable. Terrible even. He couldn’t stand by and watch as his deterioration, both psychologically and physically would possibly bring about the same horrible results in the younger man. 

Gathering his strength- _ one last time _ , he thought, and shrouding that notion under layers and layers of barriers that it was almost forgotten in the deep recesses of his mind-it felt like his manifestation had come to life anew, light flooding his ‘veins’ as he tried to reason with his former comrade. 

_ “Listen…”   _ And there was the steady beat of a heart. More specifically, Sephiroth’s heart as Genesis had used to listen to it.  _ “I love you…and as much as your presence here is significant to me…I keep yearning for more.”  _ A brief pause and a chuckle as the sound faded.  _ “I know that makes me a terrible person, but I guess you were right about me always being more physical… You’re strong, incredibly so. I always believed that you can and will survive anything life throws at you because that’s just who you are…who you’ll always be…in my heart, in my memories…but Seph…”  _ Grief suffused him, and Genesis valiantly tried to keep it at bay, to keep those dark tendrils from licking at the effervescence of his partner’s metaphysical body.  _ “I’m not used to this… I can’t go on like this anymore… I can’t be the eternally strong Genesis I always dreamt myself to be.”  _

Looking ‘up’, he forced himself to push those thoughts forward, forced himself not to notice the pain, the bone-deep weariness weighing that magnificent consciousness down. ‘Cradling’ the sides of a pale face, he remembered how those soft silvery locks brushed the back of his palms as he did so. He could almost ‘feel’ the softness of the smooth skin underneath his calloused hands that had been going too soft in captivity.  _ “You have to summon Masamune and leave. Teleport, just do something, run away… Don’t look back.”  _ Swallowing around the lump in his ‘throat’, and blinking back the ‘tears’ that would otherwise be there, pushing down the longing and the pain, he tried to ‘speak’.  _ “I’m a lost cause, but I promise I’ll always be with you, wherever you go…so just go.”  _ Another heavy ‘pause’ before Genesis decided better and kissed those lips hard, even though they were ‘unresponsive’, even though they were ‘cold’.  _ “If there’s anyone in this world that deserves freedom, it’s you.”   
_

Sephiroth’s recoil was virulent. 

Really, it seemed to explode out of him in a black wave. He didn’t lash out physically, but his response was enough that he was standing several feet away within a matter of seconds. Those green eyes were glazed with horror, with self-loathing and fear. And in that moment, it seemed as if the younger man was coming to a realization...though he couldn’t say what it was. The former General’s psyche seemed to howl in response to his urging...to curl into itself until it was as tightly packed as the inner core of a white dwarf. For a moment, it seemed like their connection was going to break; and a part of Genesis was desperately hopeful it would...a foolish part that insisted that once it did, the silver-haired man would break out. At the same time, a larger part of him was cognizant of the whispers of intent crawling through their connection...of something dark and finite. And he knew that if Sephiroth broke the connection he was going to do something irreversible to himself...something he could possibly never come back from. So when the younger man laughed, it startled him. The ripple of his hollow, soulless mirth was like black ink spilling into clear water...like a necrotic stain inching its way across their metaphysical prison. 

_ “Now I know how you felt”  _ was the dull reply.  _ “When I begged you to kill me.”  _ Those emerald eyes were flat...emotionless.  _ “I can’t kill you, Genesis. And that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do, I won’t sugarcoat it. And you can yell at me, you can psychically tear me to shreds for all I care, you can call me every name in the book and it’s not going to change the fact that killing you would destroy me.”  _ The despair that transferred from the other man was thick...oleaginous.  _ “This is my fault. I did this to you. I pushed you too far, and I gave you an opportunity to glimpse something we can’t have in the physical world.”  _ All the fight seemed to go out of him then, and that sense of mental unraveling he felt at the beginning turned into something larger, something inevitable.  _ “I...I’m sorry. I don’t want freedom not at the price of your life, because I just want  _ **_you._ ** _ ” _

_ “But I understand that that isn’t enough for you.”  _ Another image, this one vague...fuzzy.  _ “If...when Vincent comes again I’m going to ask for Angeal, and then I’m going to Appeal for capital punishment. With Administration watching the tapes, he won’t be able to refute it with good reason. With me out of the way, you can live your life...and maybe you’ll hate it at first. But I refuse to be the reason you waste away here. Angeal is far more likely to let you go if I’m not an elemental facet. This is my choice, I hope that someday you can understand that this was the only one you left available to me, and I hope that you make the right choice in the future, if not for yourself...for me. So that this won’t have been done in vain.”  _ There was the distinctive flicker as the younger man’s presence in their bridge began to fade.  _ “...I love you. That’s never going to change...but if I can’t help you, if I’m only hurting you by staying as you’ve inadvertently told me...I won’t.”   
_

Sephiroth’s presence was starting to fade, and the link-the permanent link-he could feel the younger man tugging at it...like he was trying to make it dissolve.

_ “N-no no no!”  _ Desperate, Genesis pushed forward, chasing after both the younger man and their connection but he could only ‘go’ so far. Startled, he looked back to find another Genesis standing where Sephiroth had left them, holding him back as he stared ahead with anguish in cerulean irises that were slowly but surely icing over. Fear gripped him, because this wasn’t what he’d meant… The silver-haired man wasn’t hurting him by staying here… Yes, he’d veritably asked his companion to kill him, the redhead hadn’t been trying to sugarcoat it, he’d been merely stating his feelings… He wasn’t going to tear the ex-General to shreds psychically, he wasn’t going to call him names and he wasn’t going to push… It’d been just a plea, for his own freedom and his partner’s. Even though he had been rejected, he wasn’t going to squander everything they had, the scarlet-haired ex-First wasn’t going to get angry and not because that too needed too much effort to maintain in his current state of existence, or rather nonexistence. 

Simply because it was unneeded.

_ “Sephiroth please…!”  _  ‘Cradling’ his head in defeat, Genesis continued.  _ “ _ _ Don’t leave me alone like this… Don’t turn your back on me again… _ _ ”  _ A small voice pleaded, almost overrun by his following words, but still there, somewhat echoing in the background.  _ “Angeal won’t let me out… I’m too much of a threat… Too much of a freak…”  _ Bitterness flowed in his words.  _ “Even if they did, I’d rather die now than to live a life without you…”  _

A part of him whispered darkly to send forward all the feelings the green-eyed individual currently fading away evoked in him, for them to turn into ‘hands’, to ‘twines’ and ‘fingers’ so that maybe they could possibly keep the younger ex-First here… to make a  _ cage _ , to ‘force’ him to stay… And in that moment, the realization hit him. It hit him so hard that it sent out a wave throughout the fading environment of their psychic shared space. So virulent his metaphysical manifestation dropped to its knees.

The despair, the anguish, the desire to possess, to make the other  _ stay… _

No matter what the cost.

That must have been how Sephiroth had felt that fateful day…during all the events that had followed… The desperation. It didn’t excuse what his partner had done… It didn’t justify it for Genesis to try and possess the silver-haired man, to be just like all the other people in their past lives who forced shackles and manacles onto the beautiful individual just to bind and bend that unrelenting will to his whims. 

_ No.  _

He wouldn’t sully their love that way. He wouldn’t ruin the trust they had reestablished that way. He wouldn’t squander their  _ new _ relationship that way.

_ “You’re making another decision for our relationship without my consent!”  _ Standing up, the redhead focused on the thread of thought with every ounce of concentration, determination and will he had left. If it wasn’t enough for Sephiroth to turn back, if it wasn’t enough to save them from their impending doom, the scarlet-haired ex-First wasn’t sure if anything else would. Letting go of the illusory fragments, he became a disembodied presence, trying to follow; not aggressively, but supplicatively.  _ “Stop blaming yourself for things that have nothing to do with you! I wanted that glimpse as much as you wanted to show me! I don’t regret it, any of it! I’m not sorry… I’m not sorry for all the hurt I brought upon you. I don’t want your apologies for all the things you forced me through…”  _ There was the static white noise of silence.  _ “There is another choice…”  _ Hesitation, and it wasn’t because he was any less determined. It wasn’t because he loved his companion any less. _ “Let me be your destroyer… and you, mine.” _

It took a long time.

Realistically, he had fairly solidly convinced himself his partner was not coming back. The blackness around him seemed so empty...so devoid of everything that it had once held. Then, there was the slightest shiver, a light blooming in the back of his mind...though Sephiroth’s metaphysical presence didn’t resolidify. It was different, a little bit alien really. If he could compare it to anything it was rather like the younger man was projecting his conscious and not his psychic ‘body.’ Bitterly, he wondered when the younger man had gotten so good at manipulating mental threads. As soon as he asked himself this, he realized that the silver-haired man would have had to have practiced to leave him those tokens...it took an immense amount of incorporeal effort to leave imprints after the ego had receded. It was a testament to how hard he had worked to reach him initially, how far he was willing to stretch himself despite their limitations. 

_ “Why are we always talking about destroying each other?”  _

It was-in effect-much like when ‘G’ was talking to him. Sephiroth was there...and he wasn’t. There was the sensation of bone-deep weariness...of exasperation and not a little bit of confusion. 

_ “Don’t you think that’s extremely self-defeating?”  _ A flicker of silver to his right, and he whirled to face it...but as quickly as it had come, it was gone.  _ “This isn’t about regrets...Genesis. And while we both have them, to whatever degree...the point of this was moving past them. But I can’t do that. Not without you...and at the same time, I’m limited by the parameters of how much I can ask of you. I know death...I was part of the Lifestream for a long time...I’m not afraid of it, and I’m not saying you are either. You say I’m making a decision without your consent, but when you talk about me leaving...when you try to push me to extremes I would never take...that’s equally as forced.”  _ Bitterness, so much bitterness...and it was cold, like a wave of frost inching its way across wet ground on a day that was below zero.  _ “But...you’re right. You may be willing to make those demands of me, but I won’t make those demands of you. I won’t force you to extremes, I’ve done enough of that already.”  _

_ “When I woke up in this cell, I swore off destruction...of you, of anyone, save for those who got in my way. And it’s a little bit ironic, because you’re the only person who could stand in my way now that I wouldn’t tear to pieces. If there’s anything I’ve learned...it’s that you can hearken to destruction all you like...and it’s always going to give you the same thing in return.”  _ A shiver, like a hollow chuckle.  _ “The gift that keeps on giving, chaos is. I was as much a slave to destruction as I was to Shinra. I won’t put on those shackles again...I won’t embrace that again just because it seems like the easiest way forward. So I’ll ask you what you mean by destroying each other, but please...just know...I won’t be subservient to anything anymore...not even my own proclivities.”  _

Bitterness was something he knew. He was intimate with it in ways Sephiroth was probably with pain. So, it didn’t came as a surprise to see it seep through him, taint him as it always did. Genesis was fine with it. After all, the world had always forced his toils to bear him ill, acerbic fruits. And if this was a cup the silver-haired man was going to extend toward him, the redhead was going to take it, was going to drink it to the lees. Letting his metaphysical armor collapse, he wondered when the younger man had matured so much… A dark, competitive facet of him wanted to compare himself, wanted to push so he could get there, but it was a childish vein of thought. The scarlet-haired man had no qualms about his companion knowing his ruminations, because that was what the point of all this had been. 

The former Commander couldn’t help but wonder when his ex-lover had managed to reach the state of freedom he’d been speaking of only ‘moments’ ago. The blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER knew, for himself, that underneath the acknowledgment of that fact was an old ingrained vein of fear, of the redhead falling behind, and therefore reaching a point where he wasn’t adequate enough. That instead of helping his partner grow, he would gradually become a liability, an obstacle that needed to be overcome so that the green-eyed individual could continue to progress. Genesis acknowledged it was the same fear he had of stasis, of stagnation; the reason he’d always propelled himself forward, tried to push for more, to have more, to get to his limits and move past them.

It felt like his mind was going to explode. The bridge connecting them under so much strain it was palpable, first Sephiroth’s tugging on it, and then the amount of emotions and thoughts that were gushing forth from underneath all the numbness and apathy Genesis had been a slave to-if he wanted to use the terms the younger ex-First had used-since their last encounter. 

_ “I’ve been entertaining the thought for a while now… Of us doing what they threatened us not to do…simultaneously. I could use Rapier while you do whatever you want to do. It’s a risk…and you know me, you know how I am about rules, about taking risks, but it’s a decision we have to make together. And I already know your answer…so I guess it really makes no difference now.”  _ A flash of indifference, almost resembling a shrug.  _ “Stay, it is then.” _

Withdrawing somewhat, he tried to pull himself together, both literally and figuratively, trying to maintain some sense of neutrality. He could feel the younger man’s incredulity despite it, the flash of jagged yellow that was quickly concealed behind mental shields. At the same time, he could feel the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER considering it, which in of itself was surprising. Because evidently Sephiroth hadn’t matured as much as he’d thought. 

_ “I haven’t.”  _

Startled, the redhead watched as the younger man’s corporeal form took shape before him...all moonlight-colored locks and those stunning, stunning green eyes. He didn’t move forward, remained where he was and simply sank to his knees again...looking upwards at the darkness of the bridge as he had when the former Commander had first called him. 

_ “And I wouldn’t be half so ‘mature’, as you put it, if it wasn’t for you.”  _ A soft smile, somewhat sad but also accepting.  _ “You taught me this, Genesis. If this is anything, it’s you. You gave me the ability to persevere...this was all you.”  _ A pause...and the slightly tender tranquility of the moment faded.  _ “But I also don’t want to live in a world that doesn’t involve you, and I don’t know what else to do. So, alright. But I’m not going to look at this as destruction, merely a way forward. Maybe...maybe the next life will give us something better...something more tangible. Something that makes both of us happy.”  _

And even though he wasn’t anywhere near him, even though the former General was several metaphysical feet away...he could still feel his ‘touch’ across his ‘cheek’...could still feel the slide of those beautiful fingers as they brushed through his hair. 

_ “Genesis….”  _ He murmured, and it was ragged...though not with desire, with affection.  _ “Genesis, I love you. Thank you for giving me your heart. Of all the things I have ever received...that is the greatest gift I have ever been and ever will be given.” A pause. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that you are singularly the only person who has ever earned my trust, my respect...not through coercion, but honesty. And maybe there’s pain, but that pain is nothing compared to the privilege it has been to know you...as you were, and as you are.”  _

It was all deeply touching. On a level of equality Genesis didn’t think they had ever traipsed on before. To think that the younger man was foregoing his own vitality for him was something precious, a gem so rare that it felt akin to honor to have it bestowed upon him. It filled him with warmth, pushed the bitterness from in between the dregs of his existence. The redhead returned the gesture, but he closed the gap between them, because it was so Sephiroth to keep his distance, to try not to push him for more considering all that had been said and done.

Reenacting yet another memory, the scarlet-haired ex-First let his affection, his love flow through the points of contact between his fingertips and the sides of that pale face as he leaned forward, kissing the corners of a perfect pale mouth that was here and yet so far away. Reverently, he whispered his companion’s name as he carried upwards to the either side of a pair of emerald eyes that fluttered shut in response to muscle memory, and then  _ “I love you” _ He said as he kissed a luminescent forehead. 

_ “Thank you for everything you’ve given me, everything. For all those times you called me brilliant. For helping me realize that I, too, had a heart. That I could love and be loved. Thank you for guarding said heart with me…for being patient and understanding. And for making me incredibly and so utterly happy during the short time we’ve been together.”  _ A bright smile weaved from light, as Genesis closed his eyes.  _ “Thank you for being there for me, and for being who you were, and who you are now.”  _ Pulling away, the scarlet-haired ex-First opened his eyes, extended a hand forward, smiling with all he was.  _ “You’ve given me so much…but I can’t help but ask for one more thing, one last time… For you to hold my hand as we do this. I know it’ll be hard, but I want to be with you.” _

Pale fingers made of light intertwined with his, and Genesis slowly withdrew, trying to maintain cognizance both in the realm of mental and material. Cerulean irises were locked with emerald in a meaningful yet mute communication before he spoke for one last time.  _ “Yours. Always, and forever.” _

He could sense rather than see Sephiroth draw upon the Corrupt Lifestream, though it seemed to take him much longer than it usually would. Those hands remained clasped with his as he called Rapier, and he looked once more into the face of the man who had loved him despite everything. It seemed fitting for them to go out this way, to be immersed in both reality and unreality. It was a testament to their legacy, to what little remained of what had been before. And he hoped beyond all fantastical hopes that whatever they would face next would still allow them this...this beautiful synchronicity that was as fragile as it was unbreakable. Because he didn’t really want anything else, and he hated himself for not being strong enough to remain as they were...but they had both come to this decision together. And it had been so long since either of them could find some sort of middle ground...something quiet and everlasting that would remain longer than the length of their mental conversations. Death was certainly everlasting...was certainly permanent. And while the idea of it might have worried him a long time ago, he had very little left to give at this point. 

_ “Thank you”  _ Sephiroth’s voice was almost brittle in its quality, but there was a deep well of emotionalism there that drowned anything he might have perceived as uncertainty. Again, he sensed that Masamune was lifted...that it was poised against the column of a pale throat.  _ “Shall we, Commander?”  _

Genesis looked at the only couple left of the doppelgangers from the kaleidoscope, standing ‘beside’ them, in the very same fashion as they. The other ‘Genesis’ twirled around the fulcrum of the other ‘them’’s joint hands, brought Rapier up to the pale arch of a familiar throat in the very same fashion the other ‘Sephiroth’ had. His redheaded lookalike raised a free hand to cradle the side of the silver-haired double of his companion...to whisper  _ “Yes, General sir.”  _ against those lips before bringing them together in one last kiss. Genesis’ heart bled to watch as those blades cut...as the incorporeal forms of those phantasms metamorphosed into brilliant shimmering tendrils of the Lifestream, twining and intertwining before fading into the nothingness of nihility.

Maybe he ought to feel happy for them...maybe they finally found peace in the undying embrace of quietus, and they were together and one until the very end. ‘Blinking’ that imagery away, Genesis turned to look at his own companion who was standing in the very same fashion of the other silver-haired man he’d just seen...awaiting his answer.

_ “Thank you”  _ Sephiroth’s voice had been brittle in its quality, a deep well of emotionalism there that drowned anything he might have perceived as uncertainty. However, this time, he sensed that Masamune was lifted...instead brought up into a guard position.  _ “Shall we, Commander?”  _

In the solitude of his cell, Genesis raised Rapier over his shoulder, his eyes blazing as he stared at the padded grey wall in front of him.

_ “Yes, General sir.”  _ He whispered, affectionate, loving, his hold tightening momentarily around the ‘fingers’ holding onto his. And the redhead rushed forward at inhuman speed, which hey…why were his movements getting so sluggish? Fear drizzled down his spine like an ice cube thawing, and it brought him back to their mental connection as the ruby of his blade got stuck in the thick wall of concrete, cement and steel. The sensation burgeoned when he found the same sentiment reflected in that beautiful brilliant green gaze, and the redhead didn’t really have to voice his thoughts.

_ They’re gassing us.  _

Genesis didn’t even have the time to formulate another vein of thought.

Their world went black.

-Connection Terminated... 


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An impossibly long chapter. Like the longest chapter in the whole series if I'm not mistaken, so you've been warned. Those of you who like reading tomes for chapters, however are very welcome to continue. 
> 
> Without further ado, I think I can safely say that we both hope you enjoy!

They had very few options left to them. 

Sitting in the back of a helicopter tearing its way Southwest, Vincent blinked sleep from his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time. Next to him, his two charges were in medically-induced states of unconsciousness. Strapped down to gurneys, their chests rose and fell almost in an entirely synchronous rhythm. If he were entirely honest with himself, it was a little bit eerie. He wondered what it was like...to have a bond with someone so strong that it surpassed even the most stringent security measures that a high power could put in place. Because Genesis and Sephiroth didn’t seem to be able to survive without one another, and while he didn’t exactly understand it...it still tugged at him in a way that made his chest ache. It was-in a manner of speaking-a terrible and beautiful thing to possess. Both of them were incredibly strong individuals, born with a terrible purpose that had meted out terrible ends. He wished almost painfully that he’d bothered to leave Shinra Mansion sooner, if not years before, even weeks before Rhapsodos’ defection. He wasn’t sure what he could have done to help, but his ingress afterwards hadn’t done anyone any good. 

Angeal was entirely silent next to him.

The dark-haired soldier had barely spoken a word since they’d left the reactor. Those depthless, sapphire eyes were pools of grief and uncertainty. They’d been lucky to be able to do this at all, lucky that Reeve had shot down the order of execution and proposed their concept of dualized exile instead. Both of them had fought for it, as hard as they possibly could. It wasn’t any easy thing, to overlook the murders of so many people to try to find a better solution. But it was equally apparent that the two men were going entirely insane. Over the course of their time imprisoned, they were subject to twenty four hour surveillance. As the chronology of a year wore on, both men began to display erratic behavior. Aside from their obvious dislike of incarceration, they were often observed staring into space for hours at a time...sometimes in extremely unusual positions. Sephiroth would be taking a shower only to slide down the wall as his visage became devoid of focus. Genesis would be getting ready for bed and then he would go completely still, slumping slightly to the side as his eyes grew vacant. This happened for longer and longer stretches of time, until they were approached about it by the surveillance team. Angeal went absolutely crazy. He railed at the cowering techs for about ten minutes in regards to their failure to inform them about this sooner. 

Distraught himself, Vincent had taken off at the next available opportunity to speak with Sephiroth. When considering his conversations with his son, they were...awkward, and that was putting it mildly. The silver-haired man was too stubborn to be forthright, despite the fact that he was locked in a cell, and his answers initially were one-worded and clipped. Over the course of time, their rapport became slightly more eloquent, but it was nothing compared to normal conversation. It was very obvious that the green-eyed ex-First didn’t trust him at all, and while that was somewhat disappointing, it was also understandable. He didn’t apologize for Lucrecia’s death, but he didn’t really expect him to. Instead, the dark-haired gunslinger spoke at length of his life before he’d gone to the ground...of his time with his father and then his time while he was training with the Turks. Sephiroth began to ask questions, and he took it as a good sign. A part of him acknowledged that he was likely a little bit too desperate for some type of connection to take it as anything gloriously worthwhile, but he’d take what he could get. 

And then Sephiroth had called him  _ ‘Dad.’ _

For a solid five minutes, Vincent had stared into the monitors while his mind went through a series of disbelieving analogies. Because he’d wanted to hear that since the moment he’d gotten out of his coffin. The fact that the former General was even willing to say such a thing was monumental. It quickly became clear that his son was only using it as a means to an end, but he still took it as something. So when the silver-haired ex-First requested that he ask Angeal to speak with Genesis, he didn’t think anything of it...didn’t connect the dots about why that was strange at all. He went directly to the man in question, who dithered for about a month before his good-heartedness got the best of him. When his partner returned, it was with the air of someone who had had a millstone slung ‘round his neck and then been flung into deep water. Slowly, haltingly, after hours of careful coaxing, it became clear what Genesis wanted. The problem was, it wasn’t anything that they could give him. Not now, not ever.

Because Genesis wanted out.

Specifically, Genesis wanted  _ both  _ of them out. 

Initially, they both dismissed the idea entirely, because it was never going to happen. Both of Angeal’s former comrades were mass-murderers. The public had barely quieted down in terms of the news of their permanent incarceration. Deciding to let them free would cause riots again, it would cause civil unrest and there would be questions about Shinra’s true intent. SOLDIER was quickly growing into a successful representative of what they claimed to be. They were both incredibly busy making sure the men stayed in line, making sure the  _ executives  _ stayed in line, making sure everyone was respecting each other and that no one was doing anything underhanded or dirty. And while the two men they were so closely tied to remained in the back of their minds, they had to focus forward instead of backward. They had done everything they could in making sure that they were as comfortable as was lawfully possible. The request was unconscionable...

...Or so they thought. 

Over the course of time, the men in their cells further deteriorated. More than that, they both seemed agitated almost to the point of physical revolt. Sephiroth was still doing the weird staring off into space thing...sometimes for days at a time before he slumped over on his cot and simply lost consciousness. If Vincent could compare it to anything, it was like he was putting a massive amount of mental effort into something that was entirely fruitless. Genesis was different. They decided to ignore the entirely unnecessary intelligence that the redhead had jerked off in full view of the cameras. Angeal even laughed about it and then threw the report in the trash; because that was not something they needed or wanted to know. Then the news came in that the redhead was starving himself again, that he wasn’t responding to external stimuli...that everything about his psychological process seemed wrong...though no one was really able to say why.

The situation deteriorated further from there. 

It got to the point where Angeal went to Reeve and forced him to sit down and watch an abbreviated version of the surveillance tapes from start to finish. Vincent waited outside, not because he didn’t want to be involved, but because he couldn’t bring himself to watch them again. When the head of Shinra came out of the viewing room, he was pale and shaking. Bitterly, the ebon-haired ex-Turk supposed that seeing it all play out in short time was likely a hell of a lot worse than watching it over the course of a series of months. He was just as worried about the developments as his partner, but he also knew they had to think objectively. In the end, it boiled down to a series of harsh, horrible meetings that seemed to pit the entirety of the board against himself, Angeal, Reeve, and Lazard. The head of SOLDIER was considerably easier to win over. Deusericus was notorious for having a soft spot for his Firsts, and just because Genesis and Sephiroth were the world’s most dangerous criminals didn’t change the fact he’d probably have put them both in the same cell with five-star amenities. 

It was the threat of full public exposure that finally got Administration to cave.

Vincent did some desperate, half-mad sort of digging late one night to come up with a lengthy list of board members who were receiving money from what remained of Shinra’s very deep funding pockets. This-along with the idea of expulsion and then subsequent poverty due to the inability to reign in their exorbitant spending-was enough to silence even the most loud-mouthed of executives. They were given the freedom of full disclosure in terms of the Jenova project, and the televised press conference that followed lasted a full two hours. It was, by far, the most highly attended on-air broadcast in the history of Gaia, and by the time it was over the public was split cleanly in half. Angeal was insistent that this was what needed to happen to avoid a PR incident later, should the truth come out without their knowledge. Genesis and Sephiroth had sympathizers, but they also had people who hated them so much that by the next morning a crowd of two-thousand screaming civilians was sequestered at the gates. From there it was a question of crowd control, of more conferences to field questions from the public by the press. 

It was pure luck that they happened to be at the reactor when Genesis and Sephiroth decided to take action. 

Things had quieted down minimally in Midgar, and while nothing was solid, it was enough that they were both able to fly to Junon to try and formulate a better idea for Angeal’s former comrades’ futures. They had-spontaneously-settled on an island just off of Wutai. Once the President wasn’t in power anymore, Angeal had moved to return Wutai to its proper place as a free nation. Surprisingly, the Board put up little resistance. Secluded, remote, yet beautiful...Godo had once used the small, jungle-ridden space as a home away from home. Vincent threw around the word exile and Angeal jumped on it because they were both just a little bit more desperate than they’d have liked to admit. Sitting in two chairs in front of the viewing monitors, they were treated with the sight of their charges lunging upwards to call their weapons and start trying to break their way through the walls. Both of them had sat dumbly for about two seconds before the gunslinger thumbed the button for the knockout gas. They then sat there fifteen minutes longer as the adrenaline rush ebbed and they attempted to piece their brains back together. Because by all accounts, they’d just witnessed two individuals in entirely separate bodies act as a single entity. 

Angeal had said _“Fuck.”_

They’d run out of options.

It took them two hours to shuffle everything together, to run hasty clearance strategies through Reeve and then to break into the cells and retrieve the former General and Commander. They strapped them down because it was protocol, because despite everything, the two men lying on gurneys were still incredibly dangerous. Regulations stated that transfer of dangerous criminals required sedation...so they did just that. Sighing, Vincent sat back and let his head loll against the metal hull. They were nearly there, but he wasn’t entirely sure yet if this was the right thing to do...neither of them were. The alternative, of course, was worse. Because Administration had made it clear that if they couldn’t make this work they were going to go for execution. Cutting his eyes to the left, the scarlet-eyed man took in the sight of his tired lover and affection shivered across his chest.

“Are you alright?” 

The dark-haired First seemed to have been in some sort of trance only to have it broken by the sound of his voice, and he was so tense it almost wafted off him in waves; a big kind hand settled just shy of his knee before tightening minutely in a gesture Vincent had come to understand as a request for emotional support, for comfort. And when he reached for it, to cover it with his own before curling his fingers firmly around the younger man’s, it seemed all the tension just vaporized into thin air as the General sagged beside him before a head of shoulder-length onyx locks leant on his shoulder. Angeal had let it grow during the past year, let a couple of shorter locks fall on the left side of his face while the longer tresses on the sides and the top were tucked into a ponytail.

There was a vehement sigh, before silence settled over them yet again. 

Those calloused fingers which were gloveless at the moment, held on slightly tighter before letting go, splaying on his thigh. Another sigh before the younger man finally spoke. “I’ll be fine when you’re back home with me.” There was a tinge of worry and sadness in his voice. Blue eyes locked with his, affection swirling in those depth as the soldier spoke softly. “Are you?  _ Will you _ ?” 

The query surprised the older man at first, because he’d had no intentions of going anywhere. Quickly, however, that surprise melted into understanding. There was so much going on in their lives at the moment...so much upheaval, so much unrest. And Angeal was accustomed to people leaving in moments like this...like Genesis had...and then like Sephiroth had. That was a real fear, born of the constant expectation of terrible things. For a moment, he wanted to kiss the younger man, to reassure him...but the General was more mental than physical, and his response via action wasn’t one that would entirely quell his concerns...especially if he went for it first. He didn’t know, realistically, when he’d be able to come back. If Genesis and Sephiroth decided that their newfound freedom was something they wanted to take advantage of, it would be a fight. The crimson-eyed ex-Turk was desperately hoping that at least his son would be receptive to the idea. When it came to incarceration, it was very clear that former General had a better handle on confinement than his partner. At the same time, he was fairly cognizant of the fact that Sephiroth would do whatever Genesis wanted...because Genesis was the only person who mattered to him anymore. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Vincent said at length. “I wouldn’t leave you to this on your own.” 

Carefully, he picked up the younger man’s free hand and cradled it between his own. Looking into azure eyes, he smiled crookedly. The former Commander’s expression seemed to soften as he looked at him, as if he could see more in his visage than he ever could from his voice. It was a testament to how observant his partner was, how brilliant he was in terms of deducting logical conclusions from difficult situations. Someone else might have found his query selfish, but he knew it was anything but. Sometimes, even the greatest of men needed that gentle reassurance of perpetuity. Of the tenacity of precious things in a world that seemed hell-bent on destroying them. It was-he acknowledged-not unlike how Genesis had begged them to let them go. Because Genesis very obviously needed Sephiroth just as much as the younger man needed him. And while their quarrels were violent and vicious, their love was stronger still.

“I love you, Angeal. I’m coming home...no matter what.”

“I’ll miss you. I wish I could stay… but I know it wouldn’t be received well. Especially by  _ Genesis _ .”

Those strong arms pulled him into an awkward bear hug, a head of sable hair burying itself in the high collar of his cloak, a nose bumping into the nape of his neck soon followed by a significant ingress of breath. Angeal was breathing him in, as he sometimes did; out of a blue when they were lying side by side, he younger man would pull him close, muscular limbs tangling with his and they’d just remain there in that state until sleep overtook them; until the former Commander would breathe a ragged ‘I need you’ against the shell of his ear that was enough to send the most pleasant shivers down his spine, until Vincent would disentangle himself to find sapphire irises gazing into his ruby ones.

Drawing back haltingly, hesitatingly, the General lay his head against his cape-clad shoulder before his deep voice whispered again. “I don’t know what they’re up to… I don’t know what to expect in light of these recent developments; they’re both amazing tacticians and strategizers… I don’t want to imagine the plans they could hatch together, but were anything to happen,  _ anything _ ...please let me know. I’ll get on the first chopper and be there as soon as I can.” Their hands were joint yet again. “I can’t afford to lose you… You mean  _ everything  _ to me.” The sentiment was almost inaudible as if to hide the minute breaking of the same strong voice that had defended their currently unconscious charges without hesitation.

Vincent understood the concern. Because there were a thousand things with this that could go awry, so many facets of it that they hadn’t fully examined. And Angeal was right about the two men unconscious next to them...they were brilliant. Even though Genesis wasn’t his son, wasn’t his flesh and blood, he still cared about him...almost as much as he cared about Sephiroth. Because from Angeal’s stories, from his tales of his childhood, he had learned to appreciate the redhead in ways that he wouldn’t have otherwise. And from his observance, he had learned to appreciate him the way he was now. Not because of his vitriol, but because of his strength. In a way, he was almost envious of that strength...admired it. 

Because it took possibly the most powerful perseverance to love someone who had done such a terrible thing. In a way, it shook him down to his soul, because it told him that there was something left of both of them...they just had to find it. He’d been resentful of his reemergence at first, because he knew how much confusion and hurt it would cause his partner. Genesis wasn’t the same person he used to be, he’d known it the minute he laid eyes on him...but he was still  _ Genesis.  _ And he knew it hurt Angeal to not be able to be there, knew it hurt him that his reassurances...so wholehearted and honest...would fall upon deaf and angry ears. Sephiroth-if he really wanted to be objective about it-was far more receptive than his partner was at the moment. 

And not because he acknowledged his guilt...which he did. But because Sephiroth had been starving his entire life for some type of reciprocation, for someone, for anyone to reach out and tell him that he was more than what he was. Occasionally, during their conversations, he’d seen it. That spark of gentleness behind those beryl eyes. And it was so much like Lucrecia it made his heart ache...because just like his mother, Sephiroth was equally unwilling to reach out, to ask for help. But he was there...buried under all that darkness…his son was there. The fact that they couldn’t talk with each other was negligible. He was going to love Sephiroth no matter what, because he was his son...and he truly believed that in his son there was something truly beautiful. By proxy, Genesis must be equally if not more beautiful in his eyes...and it was that singular verity that gave him something to hope for. So, in the face of everything, Vincent cared for them both, because it was impossible not to. 

“I’ll be alright.” He murmured. “And if I need your help, I’ll let you know.”

_ “Landing on Funaraoi island in five minutes.”  _ The Turk who was piloting the helicopter spoke in the comm, and with that Angeal let go off his hand, gave his thigh an infinitesimal firm squeeze before leaving to go into the cockpit. The constant whipping of the blades and the noise of the engine was too loud to distinguish intelligible words from gibberish as the dark-haired First spoke with the pilot. It took several minutes of a slow descent, and the former Commander returned to unstrap Sephiroth and then Genesis from the gurneys. Before the ex-Turk could raise an eyebrow or even open his mouth to question, his partner answered.

“The empty patch of woods was too far to land from here. I’ll hold Sephiroth and jump, do you think you can take Genesis?” Sky-blue eyes looked up at him from under bows of onyx lashes before muscular arms picked up the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER’s body from the cot. His son was a lot thinner than the last time he’d seen him in person, the otherwise hard contours of musculature not covered by the nondescript garments now softened and blending in with the rest of his physicality. The long hair was somewhat dull, matted in some places due to tangled knots and the moment the door started sliding to the side, the gusts rushing through whipped the platinum strands to a chaotic disarray. 

Below them, the cabin came into view as the chopper tried to maintain a safe altitude for them to take the leap.  _ “I’ll be waiting for you in the grassland, sir.” _ The airman informed, to which Angeal gave a brief nod before jumping out and onto the small clearing at the side of the timber chalet. Squatting beside the unconscious redheaded ex-First, Vincent cradled the former Commander to his chest before following his partner’s suit. 

Landing firmly on his feet, he dropped to a crouch before straightening with the flow of the momentum, taking a couple of steps forward before looking around. The crimson-eyed gunslinger could recognize a couple species among the many trees that surrounded the area; Taxodium distichum, Lagerstroemia indica, Ceiba insignis, Jacaranda mimosifolia, Ceiba pentandra, Ficus aurea and a couple of Cecropias scattered here and there. It was beautiful, and for a moment he could almost see himself and the dark-haired General-who was currently fumbling with the front door on the porch while holding his son in his arms-talking about all those trees. Some of them rose higher than the others, green leaves dotting the wooden limbs that were tangled together, and even at times on intertwined trunks; among the lush green canopy, there were patches of blue and purple, not blossoms but flowers which would probably create an almost ethereal scenery at night. 

Shifting the weight in his hands, Vincent moved forward, ascending the couple of steps made out of Hickory wood. Briefly, he noticed a deck of sorts at the back before he entered the main building. Inside the walls and the roof were made of out of lumber, varying in shade from a light brown to ash and warm beige. On the left a wide rectangular window occupied most of the wall, with its shutters currently closed. It was an efficiency, with only the bathroom separated from the living space which had the shape of a mirrored L. A horizontal beam just below the triangular convex of the roof probably separated the living area from the kitchen in front of him, in addition to providing support for the integrity of the structure. Low-hanging lamps hung from their wires here and there, and some voice inside the ebon-haired gunslinger’s head whispered that Genesis-based on what he’d learnt about him from his partner-was probably going to like the aesthetics of their current living arrangements, but that remained to be seen. To his right, against the wall there were a series of white cabinets except for a foot-high rectangular opening and a tall shelf housing several books. In front of it a L-shaped black vinyl couch was perched over a native handwoven Wutain rug where his companion was currently lowering Sephiroth’s body onto. Pushing back the coffee table, Angeal unfolded the other two seats to make more room for him to put down Genesis before walking to the white wooden cabinets and placing both Rapier and Masamune from the magnet strap on his back. Further ahead was a glass fireplace in the middle of the narrower section, the left wall housing a small closet and the entrance to the deck he’d seen earlier. There was a black vent perched on top of the metal frame of the fireplace, and where the cabinets ended there was a portion of the wall where firewood was piled for the colder days of the year. It also marked the start of the kitchen area. White wooden shelves housing a set of cutlery and dishes, an electric stove perched atop the counter covering a washing machine, a small nondescript sink and a top-freezer refrigerator. A small island of sorts was surrounded by three chairs, the colors matching the color palette of the rest of the house. 

Checking the fridge to find it filled with enough essential foods to last them a while, there was the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing in rapid succession in the living room. Looking up, Angeal was stuffing the cushions inside before taking out two pillows and a blanket for their charges who were sleeping side by side on the sofa. 

“There’s a generator outside that provides the electricity.” Angeal informed as his big hands lifted a head of auburn tresses to put a pillow under it, repeating the same gesture for Sephiroth as he continued. “There’s already excess fuel for a couple of months, but we have to come back to bring them food.” A blanket covered the unconscious duo, before the owner of those blue-eyes that were avoiding his changed his mind and folded the quilt and put it aside. “There are clothes for both of them in the closet…” Looking frantically around to make sure everything was in place, the words were uttered in the same tone his partner used when delivering lectures or talking with their colleagues and coworkers; professional, which considering the way he was behaving showed that he was extremely distressed. 

Vincent padded toward him as the younger man unstrapped a sleek cell phone from his belt and offered it to him. “It’s for them, just in case they needed anything, or in case of an emergency.” And Angeal wasn’t looking at him still, preferring to look at the object in his grasp that was hovering in the air.

“Stop.”

His vociferation, at the very least, gave his partner pause. Taking the proffered electronic, the older man set it down before stepping forward to let his hands slide around a powerful waist so that he could hook his hands together at the small of the General’s back. Letting his thumb rub a soothing circle at the base of the blue-eyed soldier’s spine, the gunslinger tilted his head to look into his eyes. Blue met scarlet, and the older man let a soft, somewhat chiding smile spread over his lips. Cupping a stubbled cheek, he leaned forward to place a kiss on his lover’s brow. Angeal exhaled slightly as he did so, leaned into his touch and then echoed the gesture. His body seemed to droop as his tension was minimally alleviated. Closing his eyes, the ex-Turk gently coaxed the former Commander into having this moment...this infinitesimal iota of solitude in a world of so much turmoil. Because they needed it...it wasn’t much more complicated than that. And he knew that the younger man wouldn’t relax until he was safely back at HQ, but he wanted to give him as much reassurance as was possible while they were still together.

“It’s beautiful here.” He said idly. “You chose well.” Drawing back, he took both of those large palms in his and smiled. “You’ve done all you can.” He continued. “Let me do the rest, for you.”

There was a groan from the couch-Sephiroth was stirring-and he grasped Angeal’s elbows as he startled. Drawing him in for a lingering kiss, he let his fingers card through the younger man’s ponytail before stepping back. “Go.” He said gently. “I’ll be alright.” 

Vincent found himself drawn into yet another embrace, every inch of Angeal’s body touching his as his partner whispered. “I love you.” Withdrawing just as quickly, a gloved hand trailed down his left arm, the touch tracing a line to his wrist as those leather-clad digits cradled his golden plated fingers somewhat, lingering, and for the moment those blue eyes were boring into his, echoing what the younger man had whispered only a minute ago. The General’s signature smile stretched over pale lips before lighting the sapphire lakes of his eyes as their hands separated. “Take care.” 

From where he was standing, the red-eyed gunslinger could almost sense that his partner was trying his damnedest not to look over a well-built shoulder as the muted thuds of booted feet drew away and out; the door closing behind Angeal, more heavy footsteps and he was gone.

On the couch...his son opened his eyes.  


* * *

At first, Sephiroth assumed he was dead.

It was an irrational thought, because from his previous memories of fatality, there was no real physical substance to the afterlife. He was lying on a couch-a black couch-of what appeared to be vinyl in make. The area before him was spacious, with an intricate woven carpet and a fireplace to the left. He stared stupidly at it for a moment before focusing his gaze upward. The roofbeams were heavy-beamed...sturdy...smelling strongly of cedar. And the light spilling in from the windows was bright but greenish tinged from the jungle outside. Before him was a simple metal coffee table, over which was placed some type of cellular device. A mumble from beside him had him scrambling upwards, nearly falling to the floor as the memories from the day before came flooding back. He and Genesis had agreed to escape, whether their lives were forfeit or not. 

The man in question was lying next to him stirring slowly...and it didn’t make any sense. Because a few hours before he’d been alone in a cell pondering his demise via boredom and loneliness. Blue eyes snapped open, and with them came the realization that he was too close, that he couldn’t  _ be  _ this close to Genesis...not physically. He heard himself make a strangled, panicked noise as his sluggish scrambling turned into outright panic. He hit the floor...hard and was momentarily dizzy as the ceiling spun in front of him. He’d been drugged, that much was clear...he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious and the uncertainty of it was  _ terrifying.  _ It was too much stimulation,  too much an ingress of everything at once.

A hand grabbed him. 

Again, he flailed, even as a low, baritone voice that was not unlike his own attempted to soothe him. It was too late for that, he was already well within the roiling throes of hysteria. Dragging himself from the carpet, he slammed into the coffee table, which rattled dangerously before righting itself. Forward...off the carpet and onto the white-washed hardwood...his nails digging into the downward surface as the hand came again, as he tried to bat it away but failed. Briefly, he registered crimson irises, wide with a kind of urgent concentration as that steady tone attempted yet again to bring him back. Some part of him hearkened to it...registered that the individual speaking was someone he knew, if not someone he really trusted. The former General made a inchoate, panicked sort of sound and he was being gently pressed downwards...into the flooring as his struggles grew less focused...as the deliberation of his movement became more sentient and less psychically oriented. He’d spent the last...who knew how long entrenched in the metaphysical...with very little to offer him in the real world. He didn’t know how to handle this at all.

“...-Kay...it’s okay Sephiroth.” He snarled and someone shushed him and he was struck with the urge to simply scream at the top of his lungs. “It’s okay.” 

Vincent. It was Vincent. Taking a deep, shuddering breath he attempted to ground himself, to tell himself that just because his biological father hadn’t been there didn’t mean he was trying to kill him  _ right now.  _ The hand on his back relented but he remained where he was, flat on the floor with his cheek smashed against the ground. The coolness of it centered him somewhat, allowed him to acknowledge that everything he was seeing...everything he was suddenly hearing was real. A bird trilled outside the window and he jerked again, immediately thrown from his tenuous state of temperance. The gunslinger murmured something negligible...something that wasn’t words and he gritted his teeth, bit down until he could taste copper on his tongue. He was-dimly-aware that he was shaking, that he couldn't  _ stop shaking; _ the egress of the palm on the small of his back had made it significantly worse. Spitting errant strands of silver hair out of his mouth, he forced himself to talk through it...to focus on something else.

“What-” He winced as his voice cracked. “What is going  _ on??!” _

The hand was back....though less heavy than before. He fought the urge to give in to it, to let it hold him there because otherwise it felt like he was going to float away.

“Take some time to wake up.” was the quiet response. “I’ll explain everything to you-to both of you-when you can concentrate on what I’m saying and not one what you think I’m doing.”

There were more virulent stirrings from the couch, and Sephiroth forced himself to get up from the floor...to pull himself into a sitting position despite the uncontrollable tremors coursing through his body. Glassy green eyes focused on the couch where the former Commander was slowly regaining consciousness. 

Genesis seemed to be trying to get up but his limbs didn’t seem to be obeying his mind, or at least not coordinately. There was another unintelligible mumble before the blue-eyed ex-First flopped onto his back once more. To his side, it seemed Vincent was preparing himself for yet another bout of frenzied behavior only to stand up quickly, rush to the... _ kitchen?  _ to get something... _ a bowl? _ ... There was another series of chirping outside the window which made the redhead currently lying on his back on the sofa to jump and panic just as he had only moments ago; the subsequent action led to his former comrade turning a pale shade of green before the said bowl was presented to him as the redhead ended up being violently ill. Gold plated fingers settled somewhat hesitatingly on a gray-clad shoulder before squeezing gently, and the scarlet-haired soldier flinched, jerked and shrugged off the comforting gesture before heaving yet again. Those crimson irises, however, were fixed on him.

Sephiroth didn’t move, not because he didn’t want to but because he couldn’t. Instead, he settled with putting his head between his knees and wrapping his arms around them until it felt like he was going to rattle his way out of his body. He was far too disoriented to focus on survival instincts at this point. Everything about his mentality felt like it was scrambled. When the sounds of the former Commander being sick subsided, he glanced up through a curtain of platinum hair to watch as his sire placed a glass of water on the coffee table in front of Genesis. Grudgingly, he had to give him credit for sensitivity. Vincent was very cognizant of how to act around the redhead to prevent setting him off. With a surge of jealousy, he realized that if he’d done anything of the sort, he’d likely be halfway across the room with his nose bleeding profusely. There was the soft thump of his father’s boots again, and a hand on his back made him jump before he settled into it, hating himself for needing it. To rationalize it, he told himself that it was better if it appeared that the older man had somewhat of a hold on him, that way the redhead wouldn’t feel like he was going to jump him at any second. 

“K-keep it there.” He hissed. He felt rather than saw Vincent’s surprise, but he acquiesced. “Explain.” He shuddered. “Make it fast.”

“You’ve been exiled.” was the calm response. “To Funaraoi island just off the coast of Wutai.” 

He analyzed it. Which was a nice way of saying he tried to process it but his brain wouldn’t let him. This had to be some type of trick. Masamune wasn’t far away, he could sense it. But he wasn’t going to go for it just yet. Some part of him desperately wanted more answers, and while he was loathe to hearken to it, he was in no shape to get up and start killing anything or anyone. He’d played this game a thousand times in the labs; been given the slightest glimmer of hope only to discover it wasn’t anything when he went for it. The silver-haired man knew better than to take anyone’s word at face value anymore. Doing so had always been to his own detriment. Sephiroth wanted-desperately-to talk to Genesis, to get his thoughts on it, because this wasn’t something he could deal with by himself. His confinement had left him out of shape, thinner than he’d ever been in his life and he was in no state of physicality to take on Vincent-let alone  _ Chaos- _ alone. Despairingly, he acknowledged that even with his redheaded comrade aiding him-if they could ever come to a common ground-their chances of success were very slim.

“Why should I believe you?” He spat. “Why would you change this when it was working s-so well for you?!” 

“Because neither of you were coping with confinement, at all.” was the infuriatingly placid reply. “Both of you attempted to commit suicide on several occasions. You’re criminals, but you’re not animals. And…” He hesitated. “And both Angeal and I care about both of you enough that we couldn’t-in good conscience-keep you where you were. We pulled a lot of strings to get both of you here-I’m not saying it as a threat.” He said hastily when Sephiroth snarled. “Just that we had orders to kill you, and we did what we could to ameliorate that. The island is large, but there isn’t any access in or out except by boat or helicopter. I know that isn’t an inhibition due to your ability to fly, but...we’re watching you. And again...that isn’t a threat, it’s just our job.” A soft chuckle. “Just doing what us ‘lap dogs’ do...as some might say.” This was said with such good natured frivolity the green-eyed man would have punched him if he was capable of it. “You have free reign of Funaraoi.”

“I-” He shuddered, couldn’t stop. It took a good five minutes for the tremors to subside this time, and by the time they, did he was barely able to keep himself upright. “What did you  _ give  _ me?!”

“You were both dosed with ketamine.” Vincent’s tone was apologetic. “Though your dose was significantly higher. I’ll be staying with you both for a few days, though I’ll attempt to stay out of your way. You are, as it stands, encouraged to live as normally as possible despite your exile.” 

Normal.

Sephiroth wanted to yell something hysterical but he didn’t have the energy or the will to do so. As his limbs turned to something gelatinous, wiggly and stupid once more...he slumped onto the floor and closed his eyes. 

“Make it _stop._ ” He gasped.

“It should subside with time-” He paused as Sephiroth made a low, pained sort of noise and the hand on his back moved to his shoulder. “-Though if you feel any extreme adverse symptoms, let me know.” 

“Normal.” A gravid bitter pause. “Time.” Genesis spat out, croaked from where he was perched on the couch, apparently on the brink of dissolving into an emotional wreck. The word was uttered with as much sarcasm and bitterness as his partner could muster in their current state. The redhead was leaning forward on his forearms which overlapped one another on a pair of nondescript pants; his eyes boring holes in the window in front of him before darting to his father and then him.

There was the urge to try what they had done in their cells again, to know the scarlet-haired man’s opinion on this all without uttering a word and without appearing totally incognizant in front of his sire, but Sephiroth couldn’t. Genesis didn’t seem to want to try it either, and instead, those azure irises were gazing at him, questioning silently about what, however, the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER didn’t know in the jumbled up mess that was his brain at the moment.

The silence was broken by a creak of some branch, followed by a couple of more trill bird noises, making his eyes dart to the window which in turn made his vision swim a little at the abruptness of the movement. He didn’t need to look to his partner to see he was just as on edge as he was. There was the shuffle of clothes, and Sephiroth acknowledged, again begrudgingly, that his father was trying to probably calculate the risk of the cabin being razed to the ground, because whatever their current situation was, it was the calm before the storm. Especially when Genesis stood up, albeit with apparent difficulty.

“Normal…” The scarlet-haired man’s voice was an angry hiss, and at the same time pained. “I guess we ought to thank you for  _ this _ …” A lax gesture with his hand as the former Commander walked toward them, his bare feet shuffling against the white hardwood. “Whatever this is… How long has it been since that day in Nibelheim, huh Vincent?”

A head of onyx locks hung low, the hand on his shoulder retreating somewhat before presumably realizing what it was doing, and returning to its previous position on his back. The gunslinger was hesitating, and oddly Sephiroth wanted to berate him so he’d spit it out already. 

“About a year…” was the almost inaudible response.

Genesis who was now standing behind them stopped, his limping graceless gait halting. After a few infinitesimal moments, a door opened and then slammed shut as loudly behind them as possible, which made his ears ring.

He wanted to go after him. The idea of being left alone was frightening, because despite the fact that he and Genesis had been separate for nearly a  _ year  _ it didn’t change the fact that they’d been in each other heads for the majority of that time. His mental headspace was frighteningly, terrifyingly  _ empty  _ and he didn’t know how to handle that, how to collect it into something veritable. He and his former comrade had fought in their psychic space, but the bridge had always been something he could rely on, something he had a handle on. And Sephiroth didn’t want to face the fact that he’d been  _ institutionalized  _ again. That he’d become so accustomed to incarceration again that he was a complete and absolute wreck now that he was out...but it was fast becoming a verity. Because he could barely look around him without being seized with a sense of spatial panic...by the ominous idea that something- _ anything- _ could be lurking around any corner waiting to drag him back where he’d come from. He hadn’t felt this way since he was very young...since he’d been given a room on the President's floor. 

“Sephiroth.” 

When he didn’t answer, his father shook him slightly, which earned him a snarl and a blind flail backwards.

“ _ Sephiroth. _ ” 

“Are you happy now?!” He hissed. “Is this enough for Shinra?! Will anything  _ ever  _ be enough?!” He coughed and bile rose over his tongue, but he fought it down. “You could have killed me, you could at  _ least  _ have killed me, I can’t  _ do  _ this again, I can’t-!” He shuddered and he forced his way through it, though just barely. “Do you have any idea what kind of damage I could do?! Are you  _ insane?! _ ” 

It seemed, for a moment, that the older man was at a loss for words...that he didn’t know what to do when faced with the reality of the situation. And he shouldn’t-the green-eyed ex-First thought bitterly-because this was foolhardy, this was almost  _ inane  _ in its frivolity. 

“Listen to me.” The ebon-haired ex-Turk said quietly. “I don’t...I can’t pretend to understand what either of you have gone through, and I won’t. But I...I hope you’ll give this a chance.” A pause. “You haven’t...you haven’t known anything other than imprisonment have you?”

Sephiroth laughed, and it was a deep, ugly thing. 

“L-like you don’t know.” He muttered, his teeth chattering. “Like you haven’t looked at my files.” He closed his eyes. “Imprisonment, with Hojo, with Shinra, then with my  _ mind,  _ then with Shinra again. I don’t know what you’re hoping to do with this. I understand why you let Genesis go, but I don’t understand why I’m here. I’m built for subjugation or sabotage...one or the other...I don’t-” 

Panic seized him and he felt himself lunge upward, fumbled over his own feet and fell sideways again. This time, Vincent caught him, and he didn’t let go when he hit the floor...placed a gloved palm over his forehead to keep him from cracking his skull open on the coffee table...kept it there even when the threat had subsided. His closeness was too much, too painful and he tried to kick away, tried to fight it, summoned Masamune only to have the weapon knocked out of weak fingers before he could use it; curled into himself until the only thing that escaped was a pained, strangled wail that seemed to dredge itself up from the darkest recesses of his soul as dark locks fell over his shoulder...mingled with silver as he was seized with another insidious set of shivers. The world washed into windows of red and white and he was aware of the fact that he wasn’t dealing with this half as well as he had the last time...when Hojo had dragged him out of his cell, declared him fit for duty and then thrown him at a bewildered-looking Lazard. That time, he’d at least been able to keep himself upright until he reached his apartment. He wondered-bitterly-if this was why he’d been so frightened of Genesis’ wish for freedom. Not because they couldn’t have it, but because he couldn’t  _ handle  _ it. 

“I killed her.” He gasped. “I killed my- _ Lucrecia-!  _ But you still-!”

“You did.” Vincent murmured, his voice thin and brittle. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my son, and it doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

It felt like he was exploding.

Really, to an outsider it might have looked exactly like that. Because that singular, three word declaration had him calling his weapon again, had him hissing against the hand that kept him from doing so...had him bowing his back to get away from it...from  _ whatever  _ the man currently pushing him into the carpet wanted to give him. Because he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. The half-pained, half-incoherent sounds that left his lips were muffled by his proximity to the floor...but it didn’t change the fact that they were wrenched out of him like someone was leeching verbose declaration from his lips with syringe. With Genesis, he could handle it. Because they were both damaged individuals, and he wanted to repair that because-in some ways-he understood it. But this was unfounded. This was unconditional affection borne from something he never thought he would have and he couldn’t give himself that...no matter how freely it was given. The hand on his forehead slipped and his mouth hit the carpet...blood blossomed over his lips and he swallowed nausea as copper rose up to flood his taste buds. 

“You know,” His father murmured when he had calmed somewhat. “I think you’re scaring the life out of your former Commander.” The silver-haired man realized-with a jolt-that wherever his ex-second-in-command had went, it wasn’t far. He could still sense his presence in the house. “Angeal and I are doing what we can, because at this point, I think we owe it to both of you. You’re lucky.” The older man continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as strong as Genesis, as forgiving or as insightful. Don’t throw that away because you’re scared of something you think you don’t deserve.”

Moisture flooded dry sclera as the words sank in, and Sephiroth gritted his teeth and pressed his head against woven fabric to keep it from falling. 

Gently, tentatively, a warm hand settled over his tangled mane, the gesture oddly comforting as it brushed the strands minutely. There was the cacophony of some fluid dripping on tiles from the direction Genesis had went, and his father retrieved his hand which left him wanting. Disgusted, he tried to distract himself by glaring at the man sitting by his side who was watching the same direction with an expression akin to worry before those crimson eyes turned toward him. Those lips twitched in the corners with a faint smile that was somewhat tense-in a fashion that was painfully familiar-before the hand returned yet again. “I don’t think I’d be welcome to check up on him.” There was a pause, and Sephiroth had to look away because Vincent didn’t to want to break eye contact; and it was becoming too much, too overwhelming for his brain as it tried deciphering what was in those eyes, tried to tear apart the expression meeting his beryl irises to find the basest of emotions, to figure out the threat that wasn’t there and never would be; the threat that was nonexistent. “I know it takes time to adjust...no one is pushing you, neither of you, to do it at a pace other than what you’re comfortable with. Take your time, to heal.” A gentle squeeze over his shoulder that made him flinch, the gesture the same his sire had bestowed the redhead when he was being sick. “I’m going to prepare something to eat.” And with that the ebon-haired marksman was up, the thump of his boots muffled by the floor he was pressing his head to as they drew further away.

The water-Sephiroth presumed-was still running, and the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER assumed that his partner was probably currently in the bathroom. The idea of joining him was enough to make his head hurt again. The former General didn’t think it was a good idea, because he himself was currently a mess, a confused uncoordinated coagulation of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t comprehend, rationalize, or compartmentalize. He couldn’t possibly help the redhead in his current mental state, and there was the fact that he knew the blue-eyed ex-First wouldn’t want him near physically.

But then again, the silver-haired former General couldn’t refute the knowledge that they both used to seek comfort during times of distress by being near each other, from the simplest of platonic touches; the brush of a calloused palm against fingers, a head leaning over a shoulder, digits brushing the underside of an arm, an elbow, a wrist...a pained noise strangled in his throat. 

A  _ year _ . 

Vincent was right. He didn’t know anything but imprisonment. But Genesis knew… His partner was a free spirit, and he’d accepted to be in confinement with him for a year. It was the very same redhead who had told him-before they had agreed on escaping together even if it was at the cost of their lives-that he wasn’t used to this, to prolonged incarceration. And while Sephiroth had been confined, locked up all his youth, even though he was reacting awfully to it now, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was the first time the scarlet-haired ex-Commander had been imprisoned for such an elongated period. And as his brain fumbled over how his former comrade had behaved since his awakening, the green-eyed individual couldn’t stop the realization that was dawning on him; how those cerulean irises had gazed at him, questioningly. 

It was entirely possible that Genesis thought this wasn’t  _ real _ . That it was either a figment of his imagination, a hallucination, or a nasty trick, just as he had thought earlier.

Poised at a crossroads, he had to make a choice; and probably quickly. There was another part of him that was reluctant to reach out because he was-frankly-rather sick of getting verbally-and, in this case, possibly physically-thrashed by the older man. He could sense that Vincent was waiting for him to make some type of move in the kitchen. Groaning, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He was tempted to call Masamune and just make this all go to hell before it went to hell some other way. Because that was what he was accustomed to at this point. Sephiroth knew, with a kind of stupidious certainty, that if he asked his biological father to attempt to deal with this, he would. Unquestioningly. And he hated the idea of recognizing that the man who had abandoned him was a potential ally, but he couldn’t. Rising, he staggered, blinked hard and wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve. The glass of water on the table was untouched, and he took a long sip before stumbling into the kitchen. 

Standing in front of the open refrigerator with a contemplative expression, his sire looked at him in what seemed to be surprise. Without speaking to him, the green-eyed ex-First yanked open a couple of drawers before locating a container filled with rubber-bands. Snatching a large one out, he bundled his hair up until he could tie it back at the base of his neck...wincing at the matted feel of it. Regardless of his proclivities, if this was going to get messy he wasn’t going to get his hair pulled. 

“You’re going-” He swallowed thickly. “You’re going to have to stand somewhere between me and him. He doesn’t trust you, but at least he won’t think you’re going to try to-to” He squeezed his eyes shut. “-Do something  _ violating  _ to him once he figures out that this is real. I-” He swayed, and the crimson-eyed gunslinger made as if to help him but he held up a hand. “No. Don’t.” 

Vincent regarded him for a moment. 

“How much time have you spent trying to reach him?” He asked carefully.

With a surge of something that was half-horror and half understanding, the silver-haired man realized that their psychic connection was probably something the ex-Turk already knew about. It made sense. For both of them to get up and attempt to break free simultaneously was too much of a coincidence, and it was easy to draw conclusions. It was-or so he’d assumed-due to the Jenova cells in both of them. And while he was loathe to thank any part of his alien biology for providing him with something useful, this-at least-was something he couldn’t have done without. 

“A long time.” He said flatly. “And believe me, he’s not going to like that I’m able to have civil conversations with you while he’s losing his mind in the shower. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill both of us.” He gestured impatiently. “Can we get on with it?” Thinking on the fly, he opened his mouth again. “If...clothes...if you have them. For him.” 

Closing the fridge, the older man nodded his head. Wordlessly, the younger man turned and they made their way out of the kitchen; his father to wherever the closet was and he to the bathroom. Gazing at the closed door, Sephiroth couldn’t control the sense of terrible anxiety that rose in his chest. There was a part of him-and he didn’t know how large that part was-that was reluctant to go in. Not because he didn’t love Genesis, but because of their track record over the past few months. He was barely holding off the onset of another set of tremors, and he knew that if he waited much longer, he wouldn’t do it. He’d turn around and ask Vincent to do it, and the results would be catastrophic. The man in question had appeared behind him, but he didn’t look to see if he’d gotten what he asked for. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the door and spoke.

“Genesis.” He said hoarsely. “I’m here, but I need you to give me a bit of an idea of where you are. This is very different from the mental bridge, I don’t want to overstep. Not because I think you're weak, but because I respect you. You’re going to have to tell me what you’re okay with.” When no answer was forthcoming. “Tell me what I can do to help.” He hesitated. “There’s...clothes if you need them. Vincent or I can bring them in or we can just leave them by the door.”

“I don’t want anything.” The redhead’s voice was barely above a whisper. A shuffle of fabric, and Vincent placed the clothes on the hardwood floor beside his feet and the door. Sephiroth wanted to try harder, but he’d just told his partner that he wasn’t going to overstep. His father still lingered beside him, maintaining his distance. There was only the staccato drip-drop of water droplets against the tile on the other side of the door, and if he strained his hearing, there was a constant mumbling broken once in a while with a harsh sudden intake of breath; and with each passing second, the despair and anxiety seemed to rise higher in him. Just as he was about to open his mouth to try anew, Genesis continued. “Just you... alone.”

Looking at the dark-haired gunslinger with surprised beryl eyes, Sephiroth caught himself looking for reassurance, and the realization was enough for him to succumb to yet another fit of tremors that he’d been keeping at bay. With his fingers trembling and his brain refusing to gather his scattering thoughts, turning the knob proved to be a task that was more taxing, both mentally and physically, than he’d estimated. The silver-haired man wondered briefly why he was hesitating so much in the first place...hadn’t it been the reason they had stayed apart for an indefinite amount of time before they made their decision together? The former General righted that train of thought; it wasn’t that he didn’t want it, he wasn’t sure if Genesis was thinking clearly about what he wanted in his current state of mind. There was the high probability of this spiraling into violence and quickly out of control, as it used to happen with his partner in their past relationship. There was also the fact that they were finally within walking distance of one another, and the green-eyed ex-First wasn’t at all thinking about how their relationship was going to progress in the future, just that the redhead was finally free, even though he was broken; just as he was, but  _ free _ regardless. If Genesis wanted still, they could probably help one another heal. And it was all that mattered. 

Turning the knob and opening the door slowly so that the scarlet-haired man could have the time to take back his request, Sephiroth saw Genesis leaning to the wall under the shower, knees drawn up to his chest as his arms were clasped around them. Sodden auburn locks plastered against a pale forehead and obscuring his visage as the redhead shivered under the falling droplets. Closing the door behind him just as steadily so the sapphire eyes following his every movement could see what he was doing, the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER stood where he was.

“This isn’t real.” was the almost inaudible utterance, and the redhead’s expression was so pained it was heartbreaking. The feeling he had before his tête-à-tête with Vincent returned, or rather slammed into him, because what Genesis was experiencing was the same; being given a glimmer of hope before having it snatched and torn away when you’d been trying to hold it as close to your heart as possible. The panic-laced anguish his companion was feeling surged against their connection, pooling at the base of his skull like something dark, cold and insidious. His partner wasn’t actively seeking to bridge their link, but the emotions were so virulent it was seeping through. Wavering azure irises bored into his, teeth clattering before the former Commander clenched his jaws together, tore his gaze away as his hands rose to hold the older man’s shivering body as another hiss broke the tense silence between them. 

“ _ You’re not real… _ ” And it seemed like the redhead was deflating before his eyes; another harsh ingress of breath as the trembling turned into shudders that wracked the soaked frame that was curling in on itself even more. 

His first task-he decided-was to get a towel. Because as vocal as he could be mentally, he was not so vocal in the physical world, and the only way he knew how to display reassurance was through action. Looking to the side, he was treated with the view of several pale, inlaid open cabinets full to the brim with very fluffy towels. Deciding that two was better than one, he strode forward and brought them down, setting one on the floor next to the shower before carefully sitting down in a cross-legged position. Sephiroth averted his eyes to let the other man have his privacy, and placed the other one in his lap. Looking at the tiles to the left side of him, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Trying to find the right thing to say was difficult. He wished-desperately-that he was as capable of eloquence externally as he seemed to be internally. Not that he’d be lining up for any literary contests anytime soon, but verbosity seemed to come more easily to him in their mental bridge...and he didn’t know what to do with that loss of creativity.

“It...doesn’t feel real to me either.” He said finally. “But, if I must lean into the macabre, I think your brain would prefer to conjure a much less ratty-looking version of me compared to this.” He gestured at himself...at his matted hair and dingy clothes. When a scarlet brow was raised, he let the ghost of smile pass over his face. “I think the more simple explanation is that Angeal couldn’t find it in him to kill either of us.” He shrugged. “Sentimental and all that, foolish, if you ask me. But not unrealistic.” 

Outside the door, Vincent snorted. He ignored it.

Letting his hand stretch forward, he placed it under the water droplets. Finding the spray a bit too cool for his liking he got on his knees and adjusted the nozzle more towards warm. Once he’d done so, he sat back on his heels but was forced to sit down more fully due to weakness. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that the redhead’s move was a good one. Even just sitting near to the humid heat of the shower, he could feel the shakes subsiding somewhat. Tilting his head, he looked upwards to stare at the bright can lights before focusing on the right-hand wall. As the minutes ticked past, he could sense that his father had slid down next to the entryway in order to sit down. Genesis still wasn’t moving, and the nuances bleeding across their psychic link were no more comforting than they’d been before. 

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.” He said at length. “And therefore is a winged specter painted blind.” Lowering exhausted lids, he reached out with a tentative vein of psychic supplication. “If you won’t let me tell you, let me show you.” 

“No…” was the faint yet firm whisper. “I don’t want to do that anymore…” A pause. “At least not now.” Despite it being low in volume, it was no less firm. Respecting his companion’s decision, but not understanding why through the hazy exhausted state of his mind, Sephiroth withdrew his offer. The silence settled over them once more, soothing despite the discordant pitter-patter of the shower. Genesis’ shuddering seemed to have ceased despite him still being drenched from head to toe. And the towels, they lay untouched where he had put them. 

After what seemed like an eternity, slowly, very slowly, the older man moved along the tile walls toward him, cold fingers found his before a head of sodden auburn tresses settled over his shoulder as Genesis settled beside him. The virulent anguish pressing against his psych seemed to ebb, to retreat somewhat, before his partner spoke at length. “I’m not sure what I want…” A hollow but no less bitter chuckle as a pale trembling digit limply poked the side of the older man’s head. “I guess they broke it in the end...good for them.” Dropping his hand, The former Commander swallowed as those quivering fingers held onto the underside of his arm, the digits wrapping around his tightening minutely. “Is it too terrible to want to live inside a dream?” 

Not letting him answer, Genesis continued. “It’s been a long time since I’ve memorized your face… since I last heard your voice…” An intermission that was potent with so many emotions as it was always the case with his fiery-haired former comrade. “Longer still since the last time we were simultaneously  _ corporeally _ present in a setting that wasn’t tainted by bloodshed...  _ or pain… _ ” The usually melodious voice broke and stumbled over the words. The auburn head tilted somewhat, and inexorably Sephiroth found those invisible strings being tugged on yet again, compelled to look down and see a pair of beautiful azure irises gazing at him. “ _ I need you… _ ” A sigh, and those eyes fluttered closed minutely before opening yet again, regarding him with that strange impossible expression that was his ex-lover’s signature; it was weary, but it didn’t evoke any less emotions inside him. “I need this… even if it’s a dream.” The blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER looked away, his voice dropping in volume yet again. “Let me sleep forever.”

He was-intimately-aware of how precarious a position this was when his lover wasn’t entirely cognizant of the fact that this was reality. Sephiroth attempted to maintain as still as possible as the older man settled into him, as the warmth of his extremely wet body settled into his. It was very difficult, because despite their long time incarcerated, he was still very aware of how attracted he was to Genesis...of the pale shimmer of water droplets against his cheeks...of the soft-hard curvature of his fingers…the fire in his hair. Exhaling slowly, steadily, the silver-haired man let his eyes drop to half-mast. Distantly, he was cognizant of the fact that Vincent had gotten up, that he had moved somewhere else in the house to give them some space. A part of him wished that he had stayed, because if he did something regrettable at this point he was fairly sure the redhead was going to maul him as creatively as possible. Not that he needed defending, but he was somewhat worried that once something began, he wouldn’t be able to calm the older man down. 

It was a little bit like a dream, he reflected. The house, the rainforest, the sounds of nature. So much of it was foreign and different to him that it was surreal. And it was understandable that his redheaded companion needed time to integrate himself into this new reality; he certainly did. Neither of them were familiar with normalcy anymore. Reality was something foreign and a little bit frightening. Letting his head shift forward, until his cheek was pressed against damp red locks, he placed a kiss to the former Commander’s temple. Carefully, tenderly...with as slow an approach as possible and an equally slow retreat. When he wasn’t immediately thrown into the wall, he relaxed somewhat...let his physicality shift from tense to slightly lax as he breathed in the scent of the man currently leaning against him. 

“If you want it to be a dream, so be it.” He murmured quietly...letting his hand settle very lightly onto a sodden shoulder. “I’m equally as happy to live in this dream, as long as you’re in it.” 

It took a few minutes, but then Genesis’ other hand rose to settle over the one Sephiroth had placed on his shoulder. And from the way the older man’s body seemed to start to relax, from the complete retreat of the overwhelming feeling in his head straining their mental bond, the silver-haired man could almost feel, rather than see the corners of those lips quirking upwards in a ghost of a smile. 

They stayed there for a long time, crystalline liquid dribbling over and around them until they ran out of hot water. Both of them moved to stand up in some unspoken sort of agreement. The former Commander turned his back toward him as he started ridding himself from the garb he’d stated in their numerous psychic rendezvous that he hated, and Sephiroth couldn’t help but catch himself staring at the wealth of revealed pale skin, couldn’t help but notice the sharp angles and hard planes of the physicality he knew as well as his own softened somewhat during the time of their confinement. Feeling a heat rise up his neck, he’d forced himself to look away, to follow suit and towel off the moisture while his companion opened the door to retrieve the clothes Vincent had set on the floor outside for both of them.

They were equally nondescript, but definitely felt more comfortable, easier on his skin. Genesis didn’t utter any other words as they both dressed up, and just as silently as before his companion left the bathroom without so much as a backwards glance, bare feet padding against the hardwood. Sephiroth could almost hear the gears turning in that brilliant red head, so he respected his partner’s need for silence; that was when he saw his reflection in the mirror, and was accosted with brief snippets of how he sometimes touched his face back in the cell. His visage was haggard, though that wasn’t exactly unexpected. Emerald eyes were deeply shadowed, underscored by circles so dark they almost looked like bruises. There was a brush to the left of the sink, and he fumbled with it hastily; pulling his hair down from its quickly-arranged tie so he could drag the offending item through it with a kind of focused intensity. The tug and pull of matted hair against his scalp was an offensive thing. The former General had never been vain, but Hojo used to backhand him if he so much as thought he hadn’t brushed his teeth...being unkempt was a foreign concept. It took him fifteen minutes, and by the end of it there was a large clump of silver lying in the sink but it was worth it. His hair wasn’t any cleaner than it had been before, but at least it didn’t look like he’d been poorly attempting to start dreadlocks. The green-eyed ex-First swept the excess into the trash bin and then made his way back to the kitchen. 

He paused in the living room, where Genesis was currently eating something that looked delicious...but continued on his way when he wasn’t acknowledged. Pushing things wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. Vincent was leaning on the counter next to the stove absorbed in his phone, his free hand absentmindedly playing with the fork that was hovering just slightly over a ceramic bowl. Upon his entry, he looked up and raised a raven-colored brow before putting his cellular device down...crimson eyes narrowing somewhat before his expression settled into neutrality. Gesturing towards the stove, the gunslinger tilted his head in a manner that he assumed was a sort of  _ ‘get on with it’  _ gesture, and he gritted his teeth to stop the sharp reply that rose to the tip of his tongue. Dinner-as it turned out-was a fairly simple affair. Chicken soup with slices of bread. He ate it anyway, standing next to the fridge, trying and failing not to scald his tongue as he hurried his way to the bottom of the bowl he was offered. When he finished, he made to put it in the sink but it was whisked away before he could do anything about it. Watching as his sire scrubbed the dishes with a kind of single-minded focus, he opened his mouth.

“How long are you staying?” 

There was a pause, and he observed as the older man reached wordlessly for a dishtowel before replying.

“It wasn’t specified, just until I’m comfortable leaving the two of you alone.” 

Sephiroth couldn’t help the inglorious sneer that rose to curl at his lips.

“So feasibly, never?”

Vincent sighed and put the bowl he’d been washing in the drying rack before turning to face him, folding his arms and leaning against the counter.

“Listen.” He said shortly. “You’re going to have to meet us in the middle somewhere here. You know what you did, and I think you know you’re accountable for it.” A vague gesture. “We’ve talked about this. Connect the dots Sephiroth.”

He was right.

Sephiroth didn’t  _ like  _ that he was right, but he was right. Staring into crimson irises, he could feel both the challenge and the gentle temperance there. There was a part of him that was reluctant to give up control, because he’d had so  _ little  _ of it his entire life. At the same time, he was aware that nothing he did was going to change the situation, that anything adverse that he attempted to do could damage their chances of staying there. Gritting his teeth, he looked down at the flooring.

“I think,” His sire continued carefully. “That the Jenova project was probably the worst thing that was ever created, and putting her cells in all of you was possibly the worst thing the Shinra corporation has done to date-”

He paused, because Genesis had appeared at the kitchen doorway holding his bowl, but he’d frozen at the mention of Jenova. With a surge of dread, Sephiroth realized he hadn’t told the redhead about them being part of the Jenova project or project G at all; not because it wasn’t important, but because he’d completely forgotten about it. Recovering magnificently, Vincent stepped forward and took the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s bowl; replacing the item with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Pressing them into a lax palm he strode towards the sink again. 

“-To date.” He continued blandly. “But I don’t think that the composition of your cells is a physical definition of who you are. Just like Genesis’ adoption isn’t the physical definition of who he is, begging your pardon.” He added over his shoulder, glancing at the silent former Commander. “That being said, both of you are culpable for your actions. And there’s only so much we can do in terms of your freedom. I need to compile a convincing report for Administration, so I’m staying as long as it takes to get that done.” 

His washing finished, the former Turk dried his hands with the dish towel and turned back to them, raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

An auburn eyebrow was arched in return as cerulean irises were regarding his father, questioning, and yet at the same time, the wry smile on his pale lips was mischievous. Genesis came to sit on one of the chairs behind the island in the middle of the kitchen, placing the pack none too gently on the white surface of the counter, the lighter following suit. Vincent crossed his arms over his chest, maroon eyes darting between the two of them, and his posture was a replica of how Sephiroth was currently leaning against the fridge. 

“Jenova cells?” The redhead queried as he looked up at him, and the silver-haired man knew his partner was already putting the puzzle pieces together in his head. “You were born in a Project like me and Angeal… The cells Hollander was talking about…” Blue eyes were unfocused, and in the corner of his eyes the youngest of them could see his sire tense slightly. “Her cells were the reason my body was degrading…” A contemplative and slow observation. “Where is she now?” The former Commander looked up at them, and before he could open his mouth, the gunslinger started explaining.

“She  _ was _ an extraterrestrial life form Shinra dug up about thirty years ago in the Northern Crater. They held her in an inanimate state inside a chamber in Nibelheim mako reactor. Long story short, Sephiroth beheaded her during your time in Deepground.” At the mention of the name, Genesis gritted his teeth but said nothing, blue eyes fixed on his sire as he continued. “Administration retrieved what was left of her and liquefied her into cells because we didn’t know how to destroy her, and keeping her in one piece was too much of a risk not knowing the extent of her prowess.” There was a pause and Vincent looked down, tilted his head toward him as he sighed and continued. “I imagine the rest of her dissolved in the Lifestream.”

A tense silence settled over the room as the scarlet-haired ex-First contemplated his sire’s words, those blue eyes which were staring at the smooth surface beneath ivory fingers darted up to him all of a sudden. “So the connection…” Genesis trailed off, and Sephiroth nodded slowly, looking away. “Does that mean…” An auburn head tilted to the side as if trying to catch his eyes.

“She’s in our heads?” The youngest of them completed thoughtfully. Her insistent whispering had been gone by the time he’d regained awareness inside the Lifestream, and her presence was entirely nonexistent by the time he had reawakened, but was it possible for her to live on through them, Sephiroth honestly didn’t know. “I heard her voice in my head in the Shinra Manor.” He said slowly, contemplatively, to which the undivided attention of the other occupants of the room turned to him. “She wasn’t trying to control my mind. Just whispering things...encouraging a certain vein of thought that fit her own agenda.” 

More silence, tangible, unwanted and awkward between the three of them. At length, there was the acoustic of a plastic wrapper opening, and the silver-haired man didn’t need to look up to know what it was, soon followed by a flick of a lighter and a scraping of chair legs against the floor. It wasn’t surprising for his former comrade to be the first one to do anything to break the quiet. But the onset of sudden movements as Vincent walked toward the chairs to take another seat, pausing halfway to take his phone while Genesis was opening the door to the deck, was too dynamic all at once; almost jarring compared to the inactivity of minutes before. 

There was an exhale, and Sephiroth found himself looking up in the direction of it, the smell of smoke and ash slowly reaching his olfactory senses as Genesis stood in the doorway, head tilted over his left shoulder, his visage shrouded by long auburn locks. “ _ The world is yours, just take it? _ ” His partner echoed from a time long gone by, and his voice was tinged with something the silver-haired man couldn’t name. Maybe it was bitterness. For a moment it seemed like he was about to continue, lingering a little longer before shaking a head of red. “I guess you were as much of a monster as I was then… Maybe even more perfect.” 

Something crashed to the hardwood. 

It took Sephiroth a moment to realize that it was a container filled with flour...possibly ceramic. White...with a diamond criss-cross pattern, the pieces of it glittered up at him eerily, as if echoing their strangeness in his strangeness. Because that  _ hurt,  _ but that didn’t make it any less true. He was a monster, and he’d given into that monstrosity countless times. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took several deep breaths...attempted to center himself. Logically, he didn’t want to refute it. Because he knew it was correct, but he was under the impression they were past this; throwing underhanded insults at each other that cut more than they bled. If he analyzed it-which was really difficult considering that he was barely-lucid-he could admit that mental perspective and physical perspective were entirely different. 

It took him awhile to figure out he was sitting on the floor. 

When he did, Sephiroth was somewhat confused, because he didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Assumedly, he’d slid down the fridge. Which, really, was ridiculous. Because he wasn’t some type of weak-kneed recruit that fainted every time the drill sergeant yelled at them. Blinking stupidly, the silver-haired man looked up to see that his father had moved away from the counter somewhat, a black-gloved hand outstretched, as if about to help him. Something in his face must have made him stop, because he’d frozen in the middle of the gesture and now appeared to be uncertain. Lowering the offending appendage, he grimaced. 

“While ‘monster’ isn’t exactly what I’d use to describe things, maybe it wasn’t entirely underserved.” 

Sephiroth gaped at him. 

Because  _ when  _ had the gunslinger developed a soft spot for Genesis?! A childish part of him wailed that the man in front of him was supposed to be on  _ his  _ side. Watching as a black brow was raised, he scowled and looked away. Because fine. Maybe playing to the redhead’s proclivities wasn’t exactly a bad move. Blowing at an errant strand of silver hair in front of his face, he glared at the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s profile.

“Maybe you had the right idea with the coffin.” He muttered.

Vincent blinked.

Then, he laughed. It wasn’t a full-on, raucous laugh like some he had heard. No...it was subtle, soft and low-toned...tinged with something that he felt like he didn’t deserve as those crimson irises were obscured somewhat while his biological father chuckled quietly. He was-hysterically-accosted with the urge to cry. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t know what to do with his emotions. Apparently reading his distress from his poorly-managed facial expression, the older man sobered. 

“Alright?”

Sephiroth exhaled in a rush, put a hand to his head before dragging himself to his feet and staggering slightly. 

“I...I need a minute.” He replied. 

The ebon-haired gunslinger nodded and hastily left the kitchen.

The errant breeze that passed through the open door of the deck brought with it more cigarette smoke. There were footsteps approaching and soon he was staring at the neutral expression on Genesis’ face. Blue eyes darted over the redhead’s shoulder toward the living room before looking at him through a fringe of auburn tresses. “Walk with me?” Before Sephiroth could even think about the query posed to him, his former comrade threw over his shoulder. “And don’t worry Sephiroth’s father, I’m not going to steal your son and run away. We’ll be just around the cabin.”

“I’ll be here with bells on.” was the dry response that floated back. 

That head of scarlet hair jerked somewhat towards the deck and he acquiesced because he was too tired to argue. Stepping outside, a part of him insisted that he was letting Genesis off too easily, but he was equally aware of the fact that he didn’t have the energy to come up with anything clever, and something he blurted out now might get him thrown into the canopy. Looking upwards, he acknowledged that the canopy was very high up and he didn’t exactly relish the idea of the fall. Outside, the external stimulation was about ten times worse. The air was humid, hot and just on the wrong side of uncomfortable. Angrily, Sephiroth reflected that he’d never had this sort of trouble before, but lack of mako had to have far-reaching effects. It made sense that his body was no longer able to adjust to the climate like it used to. As they made their way away from the door, he wondered if Genesis was having as much trouble as he was, but it didn’t seem like it. 

Gazing down at a cluster of red flowers just off the railing, he raised an eyebrow. It was certainly beautiful, though he was more partial to the greenery than the colorful additives. He briefly considered jumping off the balcony and seeing how far he could make it, but acknowledged that this was an incredibly stupid vein of thought. There was the flick of a lighter and he watched idly as his companion lit up another cigarette. Enviously, he wondered if there was any alcohol, because getting so drunk he couldn’t remember his own name sounded absolutely excellent right about now. At the same time, he recognized that it was an irresponsible choice; because he was _never_ going to forget what happened the last time he partook. It was very likely he wouldn’t ever touch the stuff again. 

“Do you think.” He said lightly. “If we strung him up in a tree we could escape before he got back down?” 

There was a breath of short laughter, and out of the corner of his eyes Sephiroth could see those lips quirked up in a smile...and the way the corners of those blue eyes were crinkling slightly was almost enough to forget what had happened in the kitchen only a few minutes ago. Genesis was looking over his shoulder at the cabin as if contemplating his plan for real before replying just as lightheartedly. “I don’t think he’d ever leave if we did that.” There was a deep inhale before his companion threw the rest of the cigarette on the ground, crushing it with the sole of his shoe before stuffing his hands inside his pants pockets as they trudged forward. “This is all awkward and bizarre… You. Me. An island for ourselves.” There was a long pause as they continued walking, passing the treeline; and it felt somehow even more humid but slightly cooler under the green canopy of sub-tropical trees. The silence was broken only by the soft crunch of soil beneath their feet and crickets chirping once in a while. “I know what I said hurt you…” The scarlet-haired ex-First began at length. “But I didn’t mean it as an insult. It’s just who we are now…” Fingers curled around his forearm, and it made Sephiroth falter in his step, tense a little before stuffing his other hand in his pocket. “When you…” Another short intermission, and it was probably filled with as much tension as he was, if not even more. “When you... _ raped _ me...I’d just gotten the news from Hollander… I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that everyone, that  _ you _ … had been right to look down on me all along...that somehow I was lesser… lesser than you...than everyone...so I…” Genesis trailed off, those fingers tightening somewhat, and the silver-haired man wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn’t have to continue, but he knew it wouldn’t work-...“ _ I thought I deserved what you did to me… _ ” His partner’s voice was low, breaking towards the end. There was a deep breath, the former Commander looking away instead of down at their feet as he’d been.

He knew they had to talk about this.

The fact of it didn’t-of course-make the vocalization of it any easier. Because while Sephiroth was conscious of what he’d done, while he was  _ accepting  _ of what he’d done, it didn’t make looking at it any more painful. The regret was paramount...almost vicious in its insidiousness. Bitterly, he wondered if he would ever come to a point in his life where he would look back and not wish he could change something. Considering the gravity of his actions, he knew that wasn’t possible. He was always going to hate himself for this. They could move forward, yes. But it didn’t change the fact that it was a stain on his psyche...on what they used to be. Taking a deep breath, he tried to manage the pain that emerged at the mention of it. It was worse...now...understanding what was said in the kitchen. That Genesis had looked at himself as deserving of everything. His anger-in retrospect-made even more sense…because it was a combination of self-hate and extreme resentment. 

“You didn’t deserve it.” He replied. “No one deserves that. Hojo wouldn’t have deserved that. That’s not something you do to anyone, anything. There’s no explanation for it, no recompense, no excuse. It’s why I was so reticent of giving you the reasoning of my mentality. Because despite the fact that I wasn’t...wasn’t  _ in my right mind  _ it doesn’t change the fact that it happened.” Shuddering, he continued. “It’s also why I was so reticent about...continuing this. Not because I don’t want you, I’ll always want you. But I don’t want you to want me because you think I’m the only thing you deserve.” He shook his head when the redhead opened his mouth. “I’m not questioning your mindset, just explaining the thought process. Because I think I often give you the impression I’m not invested in this. I am. I just-” He huffed exasperatedly. 

“-I just. It’s such a terrible thing, an unforgivable thing. I don’t have a right to question it, I just don’t want to hurt you...not in the sense that you’re fragile.” He struggled to force the words over his tongue. “When you make something too strong...too resilient...I don’t know if you remember, but when you fashion a sword...you can’t make it too thick...it needs balance...heft...elements that even it out. Something too strong...something too unrelenting is just as susceptible to breakage as something that’s paper-thin. Not because its weak, but because it isn’t tempered, it isn’t balanced. I want that balance with you, but I’m...I’m  _ terrified  _ of hurting you.” He swallowed. “And you know that I would never say something like that unless I was serious about it, unless I meant it. Because I love you.” He gave up and opened his eyes, looking away. “I’m not explaining it how I see it in my mind.” 

Again there was the shadow of a smile playing over his partner’s lips, but Genesis said nothing, instead pulled him along somewhat toward some seemingly random direction. Sephiroth really didn’t care where they went, he just wanted to know what was going inside that head of red, and in turn to try and make his former comrade see it all better in their psychic shared space. “I don’t want us to do that here.” The older man whispered as though reading his mind. “It was the only way I could see you and hear your voice then. Now I have you here with me, beside me...I know this isn’t a dream. Your  _ father  _ made sure of it, mentioning Jenova...Hollander didn’t tell me...I’m assuming it probably had something to do with curing the degradation, but I digress… It’s all gone and over now.” 

Coming to a halt, Sephiroth looked up, found themselves standing under a tree with bluish purple flowers which with a closer look he guessed as a Jacaranda mimosifolia. There was a shuffle of clothes and Genesis was standing in front of him, and suddenly really close too. “You told me you won’t be a slave to your own proclivities anymore…” Cerulean irises were trained on his face, observing keenly for the tiniest of emotions, and it was really odd having them watching him up close again, in reality…almost near enough for him to drown in. “You need to let that fear go. You’re not going to hurt me, and even if you did, we’d figure out what to do then...I could hurt you back, I could force you lick the wounds you’d made…” The older man looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t know...but what I know is that I want you. And I don’t care about what you’ve done, I don’t care about the amount of blood dyeing your hands and your dreams, I don’t care about the demons that lurk inside your shadow...I want them all, because you’re my monster, and it seems you’re forever stuck with me on this godforsaken place.” There was the tiniest hint of a blush on high cheekbones from where he was seeing the redhead’s profile, a corner of a beautiful cerise mouth curled slightly upwards before the former Commander pushed his hands into his pockets again. 

Was Genesis Rhapsodos nervous? 

“It’s really awkward that he’s staying with us...makes me feel like I’m staying over at your parents’ for some holiday. I don’t do this sort of thing… We’re too old for this.” A nervous chuckle, and Sephiroth had his answer. “The surreality of all this…” Genesis trailed off, those blue eyes looking anywhere but him, and the silver-haired man wanted to raise a hand to that proud chin and have them back on his visage. There was the noise of a plastic wrapper as the redhead rummaged in his pocket and the green-eyed ex-First didn’t need to look to know his partner was about to take out yet another cigarette. 

Sephiroth was grateful. 

It was hard to identify the feeling at first, because he’d always been a little bit selfish. But the former Commander had always had a way of drawing his emotions out of him like no one else. Sometimes, it was a little frustrating...how easily he swayed him. Not a resentful sort of frustration, but a bewildered, admiring sort of respect. He wondered-often-if their constant fighting before they’d gotten together had allowed the blue-eyed ex-First to get to know him in ways that no one else had. Because Genesis had been privy to his anger first and his kindness second. He didn’t know why that was so pivotally important, or why he’d let it affect him so much that it had gotten that way...but it simply was. Shifting, he watched as a wagtail landed on a branch near to them. He was-abruptly-accosted with the urge to strangle it simply for interrupting them, but the thought was so ridiculous he dismissed it immediately. Being unused to nature was normal...he’d done this before...he could do this again. 

“You know me too well.” He muttered, reaching out to brush a stray strand of scarlet hair...tucking it behind a delicate ear. When the older man proceeded to look somewhat cranky, he hastily continued. “I mean it as a compliment.” Again, that shy sort of half-smile...not directed his way, but clearly in reaction to what he’d said. “I don’t know how you do it.” Sighing, he drew the blue-eyed man’s free hand from his pocket and brought it to his lips. “But regardless, thank you.” He murmured against pale skin. “And I know you hate apologies, but I really should have told you about Jenova sooner.” 

Letting his arm drop but keeping his fingers wrapped around his partner’s he shook his head.

“Vincent isn’t my father.” He said flatly, watching as the redhead paused and raised an eyebrow. “He’s just...biologically my closest relative and I can’t do anything about it.” 

At this Genesis flashed him a bright mischievous smile, and knowing the redhead, Sephiroth realized he’d just doomed the dark-haired gunslinger to whatever ploy his partner had in his brilliant head. “I think if we’d met under different circumstances, he might have had enough of a chance of being my boyfriend as you did.” There was an awfully cheeky smirk before the former Commander drew even closer, a hand rising to the side of his face as those sharp blue eyes followed the path of the thumb currently brushing his cheek before trailing lower down his throat to settle on the apex where neck met shoulder. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to try for a really long time now…” His companion’s voice was low, a little ragged.

It was a testament to the redhead’s skill that he could talk about starting a relationship with his father and then be deliriously romantic in the next breath. Sephiroth reflected indignantly that no one else had this particular talent, and he didn’t know exactly how Genesis did it. His physicality was confused, because he wanted to be slightly horrified at the fact that the redhead had essentially admitted his sire was desirable, but he also really wanted to kiss him and it seemed counterproductive to get angry about it. Glancing down at parted cerise lips, he swallowed thickly. His eyes strayed to the cigarette in the redhead’s free hand and he flicked it away automatically, stepping forward to crush it under his shoe...silver hair falling forward before he could stop it. A long, lithe hand brushed it away, cradled his face in both hands and the flush that rose to cover his cheeks was uncontrollable at this point.

“I’m not going to stop you.” He said in a low voice.

Genesis grinned, and it was a  _ familiar  _ grin...something from a far flung past that seemed to echo across his recollective pathways and shiver down his spine. It was-at once-both terribly sweet and bitter melancholy. So when those soft, slightly-parted lips pressed against his own he was helpless to respond to it. Equally hesitant, barely-there...like the ghost of winged bird across the surface of still water. And it was different than their psychic kiss, because it was  _ warm  _ and physical and present. Even underneath the horrendous amount of cigarette smoke he could still smell that personable...obvious essence that was the man before him...everything he was in his signature wrapped up and given to him and he shuddered for it. That exquisite...enchanting mouth returned and the lower carmine of his lip was trembling as he inhaled sharply...as it took everything he had not to respond more ardently than he thought was appropriate. Eyelids lowered, he watched crimson lashes dust pale cheeks...and it was as fascinating as it was alluring. 

There was a chuckle, the redhead drawing back slightly to lean their foreheads together, a hand dropped to his waist and when Genesis pulled his body closer to him, rolled his hips slightly, Sephiroth could feel the hardening outline of his erection against his thigh. Beryl eyes darted upwards to watch azure irises observing his reactions with the same playful curiosity, and something else he couldn’t name. “Stop holding back.” was the blithe utterance, and those lips were just a breath away from his, tasting of tar and ash. Another rolling of his hips, and those blue eyes were veiled by red wreathed lids, and out came a seductive whisper. “Just give in.”

The younger man’s breath caught in his throat; at the obvious suggestiveness of the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s movement...at the purr in that musical voice. His lips parted automatically, tongue flickering out slightly as his partner shifted against him again, as his breath came heavy and hard through his nose. Slowly, the former General lifted his hands to card through soft crimson locks...feeling them settle between his fingers as he leaned forward to bump their foreheads together. Closer still, and the next kiss was one he initiated, catching the ingress of that beautiful mouth as he rutted upwards this time...as he responded with equal ardor. The redhead’s fingers slid backwards to his hair and he stilled somewhat...allowed the touch to settle before the older man made a somewhat impatient noise nipping at the flesh of his lower lip as those sapphire eyes watched him from half-closed lids. Chaste, close-mouthed but still somehow unutterably more passionate than anything else they had ever shared...Sephiroth swayed with it...felt the auditory atmosphere of the forest fall away into a soft kind of background noise as the tangibility of their exchange bloomed like a white flower in a dark field. 

“Gen..” He murmured; low...tremulous and wondering against parted heat.

Again, the older man chuckled, again his body undulated; sinuous, pale and  _ wanting  _ against his. All craving and fervor and charm...somehow delicate and tenacious in one breath. And as he chased the teasing veracity of that mouth, he couldn’t help but feel  _ happy... _ and it was transferred in the curve of the exchange...in the arc of breath intermingling. Temporarily reverting his focus, the younger man kissed up the line of a stubborn jaw, let his lips linger over the soft contour of flushed cheekbones...placed them against heavy eyelids until the redhead’s nose nudged his chin and he was forced to return to the locus of their transposition. He let the hand threading through fiery locks descend...till the thumb could rub a gentle circle just below the hollow of his partner’s ear before allowing it to sweep further, tracing the soft fabric of the former Commander’s shirt...down a long arm to lace their fingers together as the kiss deepened slightly. A luxurious mouth parting and closing over his lower lip, the warm tip of a tongue teasing before withdrawing just as quickly, and Sephiroth didn’t know whose moan it was that got lost betwixt their kiss. Pulling back with a soft wet smack, their lips still brushing, their hot and heavy breathing still mingling, Genesis groaned somewhat, jerked forward only to hold himself back, a smile stretching on his lips before he asked breathlessly. “Do you think he’d notice?”

Sephiroth was not given the chance to speak though, as the redhead drew him in for yet another liplock, this time with more tongue, the brushing of it against the seam of his lips more insistent until he opened up, and his partner made a noise of contentment in the back of his throat. The hand on his hip trailed toward the small of his back before the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER found himself being pulled flush against the soft-hard give of his former comrade’s physicality. Briefly, he mused that both of them were wearing too many clothes, and if the weather hadn’t been hot already- _ and humid _ , he added-it was starting to get too hot to be comfortable, and not necessarily in an unpleasant way. The groan that bubbled up in his throat couldn’t really be stopped as he returned the attention he was receiving with equal if not more fervor; licking into a hot receptive mouth, laving at a dexterous tongue, parting for a moment as they both resurfaced to catch their breaths, only to have their mouths smashed together yet again. Biting and sucking, pearl white teeth nipping on his lower lip as the redhead drew back, as the silver-haired ex-First watched those blue eyes dart to the trail of spit still connecting them, a dark hungry look passing over cerulean and he was ensnared in yet another mind-shattering kiss; as Sephiroth inevitably gave in to the fire of Genesis Rhapsodos.

“I don’t,” He said breathlessly, then moaned as a hot mouth found his pulse-point and sucked. “I don’t really care.” He muttered, distracting himself again. “He signed up for this.”

The redhead made a lilting, delighted noise that was halfway between a growl and a laugh before long, slender fingers were shoving their way under his shirt, dancing under the hem and then grasping at his skin like he couldn’t get enough of it in his palms. Self-consciously, the silver-haired man reflected that he was incredibly out of shape, that he was thinner than he’d have liked to be and that somehow the lack of musculature must be a little bit weird but he couldn’t think with all the things that wicked mouth was doing to him. Almost desperately, he gave up insecurity in favor of abandonment, shivered and went with the hand that drew his head inexorably back by the hair so that clever mouth could latch onto the soft hollow where neck met sternum. Dexterous fingers found a nipple, flicked teasingly before running the flat of a thumb across and the sensation went straight to his groin. Everything-was-he acknowledged...hypersensitive at this point. And he wasn’t exactly sure  _ why  _ everything was so intense...why those lips felt like fire...or why he suddenly felt like he was going to explode at any moment. 

Genesis-of course-was far too ecstatically happy about his newfound desirousness. 

The redhead seemed to take an inordinate amount of satisfaction from every little utterance he could draw from him. Every shiver, every thrust of his hips, every sound that spilled from his lips earned him a secret sort of smile against his skin as that hot breath stuttered with what almost seemed like the beginnings of laughter before it grew heavy once more. With trembling fingers, the younger man let both hands inch downwards...let them settle onto the jut of the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s hip bones before letting his thumbs swipe upwards underneath soft fabric. When he wasn’t rebuffed, he let them ascend further...marveled at the velvet give and take of flesh beneath the pads of his fingertips as he relearned the individual before him. At this, the redhead faltered somewhat, shivered and returned to his lips and Sephiroth sucked on the tongue that was proffered, drew it forward and lauded it with his own as he attempted to rutch the offending fabric before him still more. Casting his eyes downwards, he was nearly made delirious by the sight of all the pale skin exposed to him...by the alabaster arc of graceful epidermis as their hips met again and he thrust into it...eyes glassy...breathing hot and open-mouthed against a proud shoulder as his head drooped somewhat. Impatiently, he tugged at the former Commander’s shirt.

“Off.” He half-slurred, half-complained. 

“Undress me.” Genesis said in a low voice, suggestive.

Grasping firmly at the hem, Sephiroth pulled slowly upward only to have his hands swatted away. Looking questioningly at blue eyes that were shrouded by the dark look of desire and lust, his partner started mirroring his gesture, drawing close to whisper over the shell of his ear. “You first.” The utterance shivered down his spine, and he found himself waiting impatiently for those ivory digits to lift up his shirt, lingering against his skin here and there as the redhead kept getting distracted by suckling and kissing his neck. The silver-haired former General decided that his companion was going to drive him crazy simply by disrobing him, but he wasn’t sure if taking the matters into his own hands was going to be well-received. So he decided to simply lose his head, to move against those hands and the body that was pressed up against his. Up and upper still, the shirt was finally off and over his head. Almost yanking it from those slender fingers, the green-eyed ex-First threw the offending item aside before growling darkly. “My turn.”

Those lips were curved into a smirk as he claimed them, biting on a lush lower lip until he elicited a moan from the beautiful arc of Genesis’ throat, let his hands wander under the fabric covering that pearlescent torso and once in a while teasing the waistband of the former Commander’s sweatpants only to have those hips jerk forward against his, the tent at the front becoming more and more prominent. Sucking a bruise against the pale smooth epidermis of his partner’s neck, the redhead moaned, arched into him as those digits tangled in his hair, tugging none too gently. 

“ _ Seph… _ ” Genesis murmured, urgent, and that was enough. It was really hard to ignore the urge to grab the shirt by its neckline and tear it open and have it out of the way. Quickly he pulled it up and over a head of long red tresses, and once it was flung to another recessed corner their physicalities surged together in a tangle of lips, tongues and limbs. “I want to fuck you under this tree.” The former Commander said hoarsely, his hand cupping his cock over the fabric of his pants, rubbing and squeezing gently. 

He really wouldn’t mind that. 

Groaning, the silver-haired man arched into the touch, rubbed into it until he was forced to retreat in order to avoid embarrassing himself. Ducking his head, he let his tongue trace the arch of the former Commander’s neck, sucking intermittently as he swept downwards...until his mouth was exploring the planes of a heaving chest. His fingers splayed against the wide contours of a broad back before letting one arm retreat, slide around the edges of his companion’s waist to descend and drag over the prominent outline of the redhead’s arousal. At this, the older man jerked forward somewhat, catching them both off balance and the green-eyed ex-First found himself leaning somewhat on the trunk of the aforementioned tree as warm lips pressed against his again, as he himself reached forward to fumble with the waistline of Genesis’ pants. He welcomed the weight of it, the heavy feeling of form against form. He managed to get the offending garment open at the front; the ties that laced them up parting to reveal the column of the scarlet-haired man’s cock. The garbled, hungry sound that he made was swallowed by an impatient tongue. Spitting distractedly into his palm and getting a grip on it, he watched as the former Commander hissed at the contact, thrust into his fist even as his mouth dropped open against the younger man’s.

“Not going to stop you.” Sephiroth repeated heatedly.

It occurred to him that he didn’t have any lube. Thinking back to the pack of cigarettes Vincent had handed over, he supposed that there was probably lube somewhere because Angeal was ridiculously kind and thoughtful and probably hoping this would happen. Now, however, Sephiroth was not going to rearrange himself so he could stagger back to the cottage and then stagger back with a bottle of lube. That would absolutely ruin the moment. Now, warm fingers were working at the front of his own pants...and he was aware that the flush that had previously only the dusted the highest area of his cheekbones had crept downwards somewhat. The heady, concentrated atmosphere was quickly becoming an all-consuming fire. Snapping his hips, he bit down on his lower lip as the redhead threaded his free hand through his hair once more. 

Genesis tried again, his searing lips busy kissing a distracted trail from his neck to his shoulder, drawing back once in a while only to lean a burning forehead against his clavicle as he thrusted in his hand, a look of pure abandon flashing over his features as his fingers fumbled with the silver-haired man’s pants. That beautiful mouth would part, his name spilling over rolled up in a moan and an equally hot breath, and Sephiroth had to reluctantly let go of the redhead’s weeping erection to free himself from the suddenly infuriating garment that covered his lower body. Pulling it down only just enough to free his cock, the former Commander quickly wrapped a saliva-slicked hand around it. The touch made him press his lips into a tight line, his head bowing forward, and silver spilled over a pale shoulder. There was a short breathless laugh that soon turned into a groan. 

The scarlet-haired ex-First was relentless, thumb sweeping over the slit over and over, spreading the precum as he stroked the length of his cock with a firm grip; until Sephiroth could swear he was seeing stars behind his closed eyelids, that his head was going to explode from too much stimulation. “ _ Gen… _ ” He warned, halfheartedly…closing his mouth slackly over the flowering hickey and sucking, and Genesis threw his head back, seemed to melt in his hands and under his affection; those kiss-swollen lips hanging open in a voiceless vociferation. Dexterous fingers relented, withdrew and left him wanting somewhat, only for Sephiroth to see them rise to that lush rubicund maw out of the corner of his eyes, to see the redhead suck on them as he jerked his hips forward, the pale lithe figure undulating against him. 

Gathering spit, his former comrade hooked his left arm around his neck, blue eyes that could have been on fire looking from underneath auburn lashes before his partner brought their cocks flush together in his grip. Some off-color vocality fell from the redhead’s mouth, and then, they were unraveling together, Genesis’ hot breaths ghosting over his lips and mingling with his. It occurred to him in a moment of probably poetic clarity that his lover’s body was wrought with fire, because wherever his physicality ended and the older man’s begun, his skin was burning...his neurons were alight with pleasure and his mind had simply melted. “ _ Seph… _ ” The former Commander breathed, a damp forehead leaning against his as the hand pressing their erections together halted, a tongue flicking out from between parted rubicund lips to wet them, that luxurious mouth curving into a mischievous smile before the redhead licked at the seam of Sephiroth’s lips, persistent. 

Watching with hooded eyes, Genesis kept at it until the silver-haired ex-First relented, hesitatingly mirroring the gesture that was so obscene, it made his head reel with the headiness of it. His partner’s cock twitched, and the wet feeling that spread over the heads of their arousals was just too much, and at the same time not enough. The pull of it at the base of his spine...the slide of precome was fast becoming overwhelming. And why was Genesis  _ stopping?  _ Desperately, the silver-haired man attempted to corral the situation, to wrap one of his hands around his former second-in-command’s to build up a rhythm as that tongue taunted him; as his partner flicked it just inside his mouth only to retreat...forcing him to chase the sensation...forward and back until it felt like he was either going to go insane or his legs were going to give out under him. The supplicative sound that spilled from the back of his throat was wrought with debauchery as he jerked his hips impatiently, as he thoughtlessly threw one leg over the redhead’s waist and arched into it until the older man made a noise that sounded like something between a growl and a curse and took up the rhythm with him. 

“ _Yes._ ” He muttered. “Genesis, _good.”_

The man in question  _ ‘hmmed’  _ in agreement before crushing their mouths together as they built up the pace, as their movements became less coordinated and more erratic. The green-eyed ex-First let his physicality mimic that of his partner...moved backward as the redhead moved forward, pushed the girth of his erection against the equally hard silky stiffness of heated flesh. That head of scarlet hair brushed against his cheek as Genesis abandoned his mouth to moan heatedly in his ear, nipping at the lobe before he drew back to watch his expression. Dimly, Sephiroth was aware that this was another proclivity that had translated over...the ravenous way he observed him when he was close to release. Eyes heavy, Sephiroth startled slightly as two slender digits stroked at the edges of his lips, tapping lightly until he took them into his mouth and sucked. The older man’s face flushed as he watched, those blue irises dark with lust...a twist of the wrist; once-twice and the former General moaned against the invading digits as he came between them, as it spattered upwards onto his abdomen as he shook with the intensity of it. Distractedly, he ran his tongue betwixt the shallow seam of both fingers...still heady with the sensation as his partner stiffened with the ingress of his own orgasm. 

Those dexterous fingers kept stroking their cocks together as the former Commander came across his own hand and their abdomens, and the green-eyed ex-First winced slightly every time the cum-slicked length of his partner’s arousal brushed against the underside of his oversensitive flesh. Genesis’ back bowed, his forehead coming to rest on his shoulder which that salacious mouth had been lauding with kisses and bites only minutes ago, the wave of his open-mouthed exhalations ghosting across his heated skin; and through the haze of his afterglow Sephiroth could almost hear the smile. “That…” A short breathless laugh as an auburn head tilted somewhat, a lax kiss pressed at the base of his throat before the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER drew back enough so that he could see the gorgeous flushed visage that contrasted sharply with the intense blue of the older man’s smiling eyes. “...was amazing…” Slick fingers wiped the congealing mess on his abdomen, those lips still stretched into a smile as his partner flicked his hand clean. 

If he’d been able to find his mouth at the moment, Sephiroth might have agreed. As it was, he settled with making an unintelligible noise of contentment as he slumped against the tree trunk. Fumbling with the ties to his pants, he drew them back together again...hearing rather than seeing his companion do the same. Blue eyes watched as he exhaled unsteadily, letting his eyes shut briefly as he pulled the older man towards him. It was-he discovered-somehow more intimate...the aftertouch...the echoes of their release smeared here and there. Burying his face in the crook of a graceful neck, he let his hand travel betwixt arm and torso to splay against a shoulder blade. Genesis made a soft, answering exclamation, warm lips pressing against his temple as slender fingers carded through his hair. For a long time, there was nothing but the sounds of the forest around them; the soft chirp of birds, the rustle of unseen animals through the underbrush. The flowers that had once seemed dismissible now seemed beautiful in their brilliant tranquility...because this was  _ theirs.  _ This island...this place… It struck him suddenly that he’d never had a home like this...had anything that he could solely claim as his domain. This...ability to possess...it was almost staggering in its generosity, at least to him. The silver-haired man inhaled sharply as the thought crossed his mind. When he did, his former Commander drew back to look at him.

“This.” He muttered, gesturing around them. “Genesis, this is  _ ours.”  _ And as it spilled over his tongue he was once again overwhelmed by how  _ much  _ that was. Cradling the redhead’s face, he smiled, and it was the first genuine smile he’d proffered in what seemed like ages...broad but somehow unutterably gentle...tender in ways he couldn’t quite give words to. “Ours.” He repeated. “Yours,  _ mine  _ I-” The green-eyed ex-SOLDIER broke off and closed his eyes. “It’s so  _ much.  _ I’ve never had this much before. Not given freely anyway.” Abruptly, he was bewildered. “What did I do to deserve this?” Silver hair swayed back and forth as he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I love you.” Leaning inward, he pressed a kiss against cerise lips. “I love you, I’m so happy to share this with you... _ thank you. _ ” 

The smile that was on Genesis’s lips somewhat hindered the effect, but it was the meaning behind the gesture that was conveyed between them. His companion mirrored his gesture, cradled the sides of his face as he drew back; and if that smile was somewhat somber and those blue eyes were sad Sephiroth didn’t have the chance to search those cerulean depths because they were veiled by milky lids as the redhead pressed a kiss to his forehead, with the same air of reverence he always did. 

“I…I love you, too.” was the almost inaudible whisper.

Those ivory digits tangled in his hair for a moment, and the peace he was feeling was profound despite its ephemerality, just as their proximity was. The scarlet-haired man drew back, almost too quickly for it to be ignorable, taking out yet another cigarette and lighting it as his feet added to the distance suddenly yawning between them. Realizing that his words had been somewhat ill-placed, the younger man reached outward somewhat, his fingers gently encircling the redhead’s wrist . Brows furrowing, the green-eyed ex-First opened his mouth only to discover he didn’t know exactly what to say. He could sense that the former Commander wasn’t angry  _ at  _ him...merely wistful and somewhat melancholy. If he could compare the emotion to anything...it would be that of bitter regret. As sapphire irises focused on him once more, he understood that the distance between them was one not of resentment, but of sadness. He wanted to apologize, but he also knew that contrition was not welcome in this setting. Swallowing, Sephiroth said the first thing that came to mind, which turned out to be absolutely nothing articulate or clever. 

“You’re going to turn into a chimney.” He deadpanned.

Genesis blinked, parted his mouth and then pulled a face before turning to look at him fully...a hint of teasing amusement tugging at the edges of his mouth. At that moment, there was the distinct sound of another individual approaching...slowly, with as much noise to herald their arrival as possible. They were forced to forgo conversation to lunge for their shirts; despite the redhead’s best efforts, it was impossible to entirely wipe the evidence of their release away. Sephiroth ended up pulling the aforementioned garment over his head so fast his hair got looped up in it at the back and he made a half-annoyed, half-desperate sound of consternation before a considerably more composed former Commander came to his aid, tugging at the offending silver strands and letting the shirt down as Vincent came striding into the clearing. 

In retrospect, it was extremely obvious what they’d been doing regardless. Sephiroth was fairly sure he had several fading hickeys just above his collar and Genesis was still somewhat flushed despite the way he was trying to play it off by leaning casually against the tree he’d basically crushed him against a few minutes earlier. Both of them were considerably disheveled despite being fully dressed, and it wasn’t the kind of disheveled that came from fighting. No, theirs was a debauched messiness that couldn’t be passed off as anything else. Running a hand through his hair, the younger man envisioned the quite attractive concept of a massive tidal wave picking them up and sweeping them out to sea. Glancing to the side, he grimaced as he realized that his former second-in-command hadn’t quite done his pants up the way that they’d begun. Vincent cleared his throat, a pale flush dotting high cheekbones.

“Well,” He said flatly. “That’s good.” About-facing, he began to trod back the way he’d come. “Carry on.” 

Blue eyes darted to his, a cheeky smirk curving sanguine lips before they parted to accommodate the offending roll of tobacco and paper Genesis was smoking. The redhead nodded toward his father before leaving his post by the tree, following in the direction the raven-haired man had come from, still wearing the same awfully self-satisfied expression from before as he did. When Sephiroth didn’t follow, the former Commander threw over his shoulder teasingly.

“I’m going to use all the hot water if you don’t hurry, princess.”

The silver-haired man half-glared half-stared disbelievingly at his partner’s back, before groaning as he remembered the tangled mess his hair had been earlier when he’d brushed it. He definitely could use a shower. Stepping forward, he resigned himself to sweaty-albeit short-trek back to the cottage. It was near dark, though he supposed it took a long time for the sun to go down this far South. That didn’t change the fact that the weather was stifling hot...slightly cooler than it had been before, but not by much. If he hadn’t had an eidetic memory, he’d have been able to find his way back via the sound of the shower. Out here, with little else to dampen exterior noise, it was easy to pinpoint his local. The steps creaked in a welcoming sort of way as he made his way up them, glancing to his left. Vincent was sitting on a wicker chair just to the left of the front door. Scribbling in a weary sort of way on a tablet, his sire offered him a raised brow but little else. 

Deciding that any form of conversation he might desire could wait, the green-eyed ex-First entered the cottage and made his way to the bathroom. He wanted-realistically-to think this through more clearly...the circumstances of their exile...their future in terms of what their exile would allow. But from his viewpoint by the door, he could see a little of Genesis’ naked body...and that which he saw was no less beautiful than it had been in the forest. He was accosted with the desire to touch...to explore...to relearn...and he wondered briefly at how someone could arouse such urges in him simply by being in the same vicinity. There was the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back slightly, and he flushed as sapphire eyes landed mischievously upon him. Slowly, the redhead smiled...and it was a teasing, supplicative thing that fanned the embers in his body to a slow roil. The crooked beckoning of a finger had him dropping his clothes to the tiles next to the older man’s; striding forward to duck under the spray. He’d been intending to sleep, but it seemed that both of them had other things in mind. And as that lithe, pale body arched against his...as water soaked his hair in rivulets until it was a shining curtain wreathing them both, he closed his lips over equally desirous ones and let his thoughts fly into the wind. Yes...sleep could wait,  _ everything  _ could wait.

…They had waited long enough. 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Lazily opening cerulean irises, Genesis couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips. Brilliant rays of sun filtered through the shutters, crawling across the white hardwood flooring, over the handwoven woolen rug, across the coffee table which was currently housing two mugs of steaming coffee and finally over their sofa bed and him. On the rare occasions that he’d woken up in the middle of the night, the ebon-haired marksman lay there somewhere on a futon he unrolled on the floor by the window, which wasn’t there at the moment.

Letting his eyes flutter closed yet again, he relished the warmth as golden sunlight danced across his face. Genesis smiled even more as he simply lay there as he was, as he’d been since he’d woken up who-knows-how-many-hours ago when his silver-haired lover had stirred awake. The warmth that came from thinking about the sleepy kiss Sephiroth had bestowed upon his forehead, and the way he’d been unable to resist waking up just to give the younger man an equally sleepy smile only to doze off again, had nothing to do with the lazy daylight painting him chartreuse.

His green-eyed partner wasn’t around, which had become customary during the past week they’d been staying on . Funaraoi. Both of them were intimate with their own and each other’s physicality, and that knowledge was enough for them to know how badly out of shape they both were. It was Sephiroth who had started his exercising regiment first, and Genesis had simply taken up after him. The first morning he’d woken up without the silver-haired individual by his side-or anywhere inside the house for that matter-the redhead couldn’t help but want to melt into a puddle of embarrassment remembering how spectacularly he’d panicked; until the dark-haired gunslinger had informed him that his son had been out in the woods going through Katas like a man possessed. There had been an urge to go and beat the younger ex-SOLDIER into shape himself, but he’d settled with just taking a walk to cool down, and to avoid staying in the same space with Vincent for longer than was necessary.

The mornings after that, the eldest of them seemed to have noticed his discomfort, and other than necessary interactions, they simply coexisted in an awkward sort of silence. Awkward in the sense that Genesis was sure he and Sephiroth had probably made the marksman feel rather miserable with how they’d simply been unable to keep their hands to themselves and not off of one another. The scarlet-haired ex-First simply hadn’t been able to help himself, especially seeing that endearing shade of roseate rise up on his partner’s cheek every time the younger man so much as presumed his father had caught them red handed doing something as simple as an embrace- _ a very affectionate one, _ he thought wryly-but an embrace nonetheless. 

They’d started behaving, more or less, after day three which was around the time Sephiroth had started his morning routine; and after a couple of days, Genesis had decided that he could actually use some exercise himself. Only, instead of training with his former comrade, the scarlet-haired ex-First had chosen nighttime for his routine to let his partner spend some time with his sire if that was what they’d wanted. As much as the younger man insisted that Vincent wasn’t his father, the redhead hadn’t been able to ignore the dark-haired gunman’s attempts at trying to connect with the youngest of them, even though it sometimes made jealousy stab in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

His lover came to him once in a while when he’d been working out, just as Genesis had, and they had fooled around in the woods a couple more times. It hadn’t been anything elaborate, considering they’d had yet to find lube; and they both had a sneaking suspicion that the gunslinger didn’t want to give it to them unless they came forward and asked for it like a man. Thus, the redheaded former Commander had taken it upon himself to rummage around the house and come up with not only one, but several bottles of various shapes and sizes stashed here and there. It had been a little bit disconcerting and nostalgic because this had to be Angeal’s doing. And as much as it was kind and considerate on his former comrade’s behalf, the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that they had somehow predicted that they’d start fucking like rabbits once they were in close proximity. 

He’d been  _ this  _ close to throwing a temper tantrum, and worse of all on a really clueless and profusely sweating silver-haired former General who’d just returned from his practice. Instead, he’d literally turned into the chimney Sephiroth had warned him about, and decided that they were simply never going to use any of those, not that he’d planned on doing anything that required lube anyway-…

…-The sound of plates clinking softly against the countertop brought him out of his reverie, and Genesis stretched across the black vinyl sofa, stifling a yawn with the back of his palm. Briefly, he entertained the idea of waking up earlier in the morning; considering that it had either been Vincent who made breakfast, or their meal consisted of the leftovers the silver-haired man had quickly scrambled together before leaving for his morning routine. By the time he had brushed his teeth and gotten out of the bathroom however, the scarlet-haired ex-First had been almost ready to crawl back into bed. Pushing that thought away without any further contemplation, he cradled the-now-lonely warm mug of coffee instead as he padded toward the kitchen. 

Vincent was sitting in a chair behind the island, with his back to him; two plates of omelets laying untouched on the pristine surface while the gunslinger’s ungloved hand was pushing the buttons on his phone in quick succession as he sipped his coffee. An errant breeze waltzed across the room from the deck, seducing Genesis towards the entrance before he could even say ‘Good morning’ to the other occupant of the chalet. Leaving the mug on the island, the redhead came to stand over the threshold, grasping the wooden frames on either side as he closed his eyes; as he luxuriated in feeling the gentle yet cool zephyr twisting around his form and threading through his hair while he breathed the scent of the woods it brought deep within his lungs.

It was good to be free again...after such a long  _ long _ time.

The cacophony of the buttons ended, followed by the muffled thud of Vincent’s phone on the counter behind him and the clink of cutlery against probably a gold-plated gauntlet. 

“Good morning.” Looking over his shoulder, Genesis uttered flatly, simply, before pivoting on his heel and sauntering to the seat in front of the crimson-eyed man, blue eyes locking with red before he busied himself with a knife and a fork.

A raven brow winged its way upwards, as if somewhat surprised by his forwardness before settling into neutrality once more. Not for the first time, the younger man was accosted with the similarities between the gunslinger and his son. Both of them were brooding and close-mouthed and just generally overall sort of rigid. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Valentine was somewhat more mature than his progeny. He was even-tempered in ways that Sephiroth was not, and baiting him didn’t seem to work at all. Though, once he really considered it, that could also be a facet of his previous employment. It was hard to imagine the man before him as a Turk, but at the same time it was hard to ignore the fact that the crimson-eyed individual was analytical and deductive in ways that only a Turk could be. He was frankly surprised he hadn’t put the pieces together straight off. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind regardless. 

He had yet to see what exactly Angeal saw in him.

As far as he could tell, Vincent was rather boring. Not in the sense of his appearance, he wasn’t going to pretend to be blind and say that the older man wasn’t attractive. Sephiroth obviously hadn’t pulled his looks from thin air. There was also the niggling factor that he didn’t know exactly how old Valentine was. It was-practically-impossible to tell. The former Commander also got the feeling that he might not like the answer if he asked. Because he wasn’t, despite all indicators otherwise, old enough to be the father of someone in his mid-twenties. Everything he knew about genetics went against that, but he didn’t particularly care. No, it was the simple fact that the man before him was-as far as he was concerned-extremely dull. Realistically, when compared to Angeal, it added up. Because his childhood friend wasn’t the type to go for someone flowery and dramatic either. Still, it was kind of hard to see the appeal outside of the external. 

“Good morning.”

Also dull. Though the monotone voice wasn’t exactly something he was unaccustomed to. When he’d first met Sephiroth there was a part of him that wasn’t entirely convinced that the man wasn’t a robot. Considering that he’d very recently been released from the labs, that wasn’t entirely unavoidable, but it appeared that this, too, was a genetic trait. Both men were very deadpan and not particularly humorous unless you were looking for it. Indignantly, he wondered why Angeal had gone for someone who was so much like his own lover. The minute the thought crossed his mind, he decided that he really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to know. Vincent shifted, the fall of that dark hair slithering over his shoulder as he looked away...his expression unreadable. 

“I trust you slept well?” 

An auburn eyebrow arched upward at the gesture, but Genesis decided not to comment. 

“Yes, thank you.” The tiniest hint of a polite smile resurfaced from the behaviors ingrained within him from all those years ago. “How about you?” The redhead couldn’t help but muse that lying on the floor probably wasn’t the ideal sleeping arrangement; he’d always hated it at war and on missions when they had to use sleeping bags, and sometimes even less.

Leaning slightly back in his chair as he cut a piece with his knife, his blue eyes were never left the individual sitting in front of him, his fork hovered in the air in his left hand before he used it to bring the portion to his lips. The dark-haired man nodded, still not meeting his eyes; the gesture just as subtle as Sephiroth would do it, and Genesis had to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile and not to groan at the same time. 

Putting the cutlery down on his plate, the former Commander placed his left hand on the countertop, the cool touch soothing against the inside of his wrist as he tilted an auburn head. “Cigarettes...Lube...I imagine there must be a whole stash of alcohol in the shed where the generator is…” At that, those crimson eyes turned to look at him, observing in the same keen analytical fashion the older man always did. “I can see what you’re doing.  _ Placating me _ , even at the expense of your son. Why’s that?” Seeing that the gunslinger was contemplating his words, Genesis used the opportunity to go on. “Was it Angeal’s idea? Like back at his apartment?” A fiery eyebrow arched questioningly, almost mockingly. The old Genesis would probably be very pissed while uttering these words, but he was calm...eerily so. “Hasn’t he told you how much I hate when people do that?” The ex-First wanted to continue, despite his better judgment, but the slight almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Vincent’s lip gave him pause. The red brow he’d raised probably disappeared into his hairline and he puckered his lips somewhat as he waited for the older man to answer.

“I think…” The ebon-haired individual replied. “You’re looking at it a little bit backwards.” When the blue-eyed man made as if to scoff, he chuckled quietly. “There is a distinct difference between placating someone and making sure that someone is comfortable. You’re stuck here, feasibly for the rest of your lives. Do you really want to spend your entire existence without any niceties simply because you’re extremely stubborn?” 

And. Well. Apparently bluntness was a genetic trait too. Because Vincent said all this with the air of someone who was stating something obvious and not something insulting. Despairingly, Genesis wondered if anyone had ever bothered to hit him over the head for it. There was-as the older man had said-a ‘distinct difference’ between being reasonable and being subtly obnoxious. Though by looking at him, it was really rather difficult to say whether the ex-Turk was deliberately trying to get a rise out of him, or if he was just saying whatever was on his mind. Then again, the fact that he might be comfortable enough to share with him whatever his thoughts might bring to the table wasn’t exactly comforting either. It spoke volumes to his confidence in his skillset, and that was neither encouraging nor enlightening. 

“Angeal mentioned that you and Sephiroth were always fighting.” was the muttered continuation. “Now I can see why.” When the former Commander proceeded to look furious, those scarlet eyes gentled. “You’re intuitively competitive, because that’s all you’ve known. Sephiroth is too, he’s just...more underhanded about it. You’re assuming that we’re giving you these things because we want your subservience...that’s not it at all. I think that it’s very unbelievable to you that we just want you both to be happy...but it’s true.” He appeared to hesitate. “From what I can understand...you view material items given to you as gestures of dismissal...of undermining your worth. But you’ve rebutted us in terms of social communication...in terms of moving past this...this is what we’re left with to give you...this is all we can give you.” A shrug. “And maybe we don’t have a right to ask for anything else, that’s understandable. So, really, this is just us working with what we have, for the sake of both of you.”   


Almost finished with his breakfast by the time Vincent was finished, the redhead briefly mused if the older man would see it as rude, but simply couldn’t bring himself to care. Just as briefly, he was accosted with the sudden wild urge to stab the knife down in his plate so hard it would break in half. Putting the cutlery down before he could give in to that, or perhaps something with far more drastic consequences, Genesis leaned back in his chair; taking an infinitesimal moment to contemplate where to start. “You should ask Angeal for the reason why things are the way they are now.” Azure eyes hardened into ice as he uttered those words. “How is he by the way?” The former Commander couldn’t care less that those crimson irises were observing his reactions keenly, probably cataloguing everything. It was  _ almost  _ enough to set his teeth on edge. “Is he wallowing in too much guilt to come pay me a visit? Or maybe guilt’s not the right word.” A pause, his lips curling into an ugly sneer as he looked away and toward the deck. “Maybe it’s shame. I wonder if he simply can’t face the friend he so flagrantly discarded…” Cold blue eyes darted back to the man sitting in front of him as the scarlet-haired ex-SOLDIER tilted his head. “Was it his honor stick that charmed you?” 

Abruptly reaching forward, he curled his fingers around Vincent’s gold-plated hand, surprised at how cold and synthetic it felt against his skin but the former Commander didn’t let that distract him as his eyes bore into the red ones in front of him. “Did you two have fun fucking each other senseless while Sephiroth and I were  _ rotting away  _ in those cells for a year?”

The ex-Turk-to his credit-didn’t flinch away from him. Those red eyes searched his visage with a kind of careful patience that was at this point only annoying him. He might have relented if the gunslinger had gotten angry, if he’d shown  _ some  _ reaction to his words. With a sort of practiced resentment, he acknowledged that he did sense some contrition from him...but it was directed more in the form of understanding, and he didn’t really  _ want  _ understanding. At the same time, he did want answers...and it was that single fact that kept him from exploding. A bitter part of him jeered at the facet of his psychology that was so willing to seek an explanation when-as far as he was concerned-there could never be a good enough one. 

“Angeal didn’t know anything.” Vincent said gently. “He only knew that that you’d defected for some vague reason, and then the President issued an executive order for both he and Sephiroth to stay in HQ due to a terrorist threat when they went to detain you. Neither of them knew they were going to apprehend you. He fought for you during the Board Meeting...Sephiroth didn’t.” He waved his free hand. “And I’m not saying that to turn you against him. With that in mind, try to look at it from his point of view. He doesn’t understand why you’re willing to forgive Sephiroth and not him. Frankly, it baffles me a bit as well.” He hesitated. “Though I’m not disregarding that. I...greatly,  _ greatly  _ respect you for being able to look past things in terms of my son. That takes an immense amount of strength, and I’m not flattering you.” The older man shrugged. “Just that...Angeal had to discover everything you and Sephiroth discovered after the fact, to some degree. He didn’t possess all the details.”

“And, I think that it baffles him that you’re so angry with him for not choosing what you chose or what Sephiroth chose...because he wanted to do right by his men. Not because of honor, not because of duty, but because Angeal genuinely cares about everyone he comes in contact with.” A somber crimson expression was shot his way. “That’s what ‘charmed me’ as you put it. The idea that a single individual could take so much from so little. Because he could have chosen destruction and rage, but he chose not to. That also takes strength. And I’m not disregarding your struggles, I admire you-all three of you-for it. But just because someone deals with something terrible differently doesn’t make them a bad person.” The gunslinger looked away. “More than that, Angeal didn’t ask me any questions. He didn’t demand from me anything I couldn’t give in return.” 

“So quick to rise to his defense I see.” Genesis let go-with a quick glance at Vincent’s plate and finding it empty-swiftly rose from his seat and took the tableware with him to the sink as he concluded yet again that the dark-haired gunslinger was definitely  _ dull. _ Plain and simple. Maybe it had been the worst decision he could’ve made to try and talk to the older man. The mood he’d woken up with was positively ruined, leaving him bitter with resentment at Sephiroth’s father’s calm and anger at himself. The urge to simply snap the plates he was currently scrubbing or throwing them across the room was really hard to resist, but he had to do something with his hands, to distract or busy himself somewhat… It had to do, despite it being inefficacious, however. 

Some small insidious voice in him whispered that maybe he’d been wrong to forgive Sephiroth. Maybe he’d let him off so easily… but Vincent and Angeal didn’t know what they had been going through during the past year. They hadn’t seen what the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER had shown him, the events that had led up to that day the world had born them naught but bitter fruit. “You don’t know anything about us.” Genesis uttered over his shoulder, as though it would solidify his reasoning further; the anger he had felt before now leaving him wallowing in melancholy. Opening his mouth to continue, the redhead couldn’t decide on what to say. The former Commander hadn’t known that the President had grounded his former comrades right when the Fort Tamblin mission had been scheduled. He had no knowledge about the board meeting for his execution, less about his lover not rising to object against that order; though his partner had always been less inclined to disobey a direct order considering his track record and what Vincent had just informed him.

Finished with the dishes, the scarlet-haired ex-First flicked his hands dry and turned around to lean against the counter. The gunman was standing outside on the deck, inclined slightly over the railing with his back to Genesis. It took him about a minute of glowering at the gunslinger’s back as he deliberated, before deciding that going for a walk and getting some fresh air might do him some good. Taking a random book from the shelves, pocketing his cigarettes and grabbing Rapier, the blue-eyed individual took the longer route of going outside just so he could give another piece of his mind to the eldest of them as he passed him by. 

“Angeal tried to turn me against Sephiroth that day you apprehended us at Nibelheim… He forced me into custody,  _ forced me to live and lied to me.  _ And I know that might have been done with good intentions in mind...it wasn’t what was good for me, what I needed.” Dithering for a moment, he rested his hand and the book on the thick wooden railing. “I guess I always held him in a higher esteem than everyone else...expected him to be a constant whereas no one else had been…” A short pause and he sighed before continuing. “I never relied on anyone...not even Sephiroth, and don’t get me wrong, I trust him with my life; and I know that’s a heavy burden to put on someone, but I only ever relied on ‘Geal, and see where that got me.” A grimace and Genesis could feel the anger rising up again. “I guess you could say the same about me loving your son the way I did...the way I do...but why am I telling you these?” With a shake of auburn hair, the scarlet-haired ex-First quickly strode away, down the stairs and toward the treeline. 

He needed to blow off some steam before he could find Sephiroth.

A hand caught his sleeve, and he nearly struck the man before he reigned in his temper. Whirling, he was surprised to see that this time, Vincent did look angry. If you could call the burning intensity in his eyes  _ ‘angry’  _ but he supposed that was as close to it as you could get. Those features were equally neutral, but that pale mouth was pressed into a tight line. For a moment, he could see the difference in son and father...because Sephiroth wouldn’t have pursued him like this. Maybe in a far-flung past when he thought he was worthy of pursuit, but not now. No, Vincent’s determination was a testimony to his belief in his character...in the character of those he cared about. 

“I can’t understand your position, you’re right.” He said frigidly. “But keep this in mind; if I hadn’t gone to the ground, if I hadn’t stepped out of the way in favor of saving my son, if I had had the guts to look into-and then to  _ stop- _ the Jenova project before it got off the ground; it’s very possible none of you would be here. There is death in your past, but there is  _ far  _ more death in mine. Because for every life you took-any of you took-there is the singular reasoning that my actions,  _ any  _ action on my part, could have prevented it.” The older man let go, and he snatched his arm back. “So yes, I’ll defend Angeal, I’ll defend Sephiroth, and I’ll even defend  _ you.  _ Because none of you are as guilty as I am. And that doesn’t make my suffering equal to yours, far from it. But it does make me equally culpable. My hands are as dirty as yours; if not more. And not because I killed, but because I did  _ nothing.  _ So before you assume that I’m trying to  _ placate  _ you, maybe you should try and comprehend that none of this is  _ your fault,  _ and that I’m here because you can’t change the past, but I can  _ attempt  _ to change the future. ”

With a swirl of his red cape, the older man was gone faster than he had come, and Genesis was left staring at where he’d been trying to figure out if Vincent Valentine was as boring as he’d thought he was. 

Following the direction Sephiroth’s father had gone with his eyes, the scarlet-haired man was faced with a decision which left him somewhat startled. The exact reverse of what the gunslinger had done; to pursue, but that meant the redhead somehow  _ cared? _ Cared because it was his lover’s sire or his former comrade’s partner? What confused him even more was the fact that Genesis wanted to go back and make him understand that he didn’t need defending, that there was simply nothing he could have done to stand against Shinra...because the redhead could relate...after all, he had been one against Shinra and he had failed. Maybe it would have been easier back then, but the former Commander wasn’t really optimistic about it. 

There was also the choice to continue on the path he had been meaning to go and to let this go.

Glancing back at the treeline and then toward the cabin, the redhead dropped the book and his sword on the forest floor; took resolute steps back the way he had come, stepped into the kitchen to find the said gunslinger walking past the fireplace toward the living room. Striding forward purposefully, Vincent turned around at the sound of his footsteps and Genesis almost slammed into him before grabbing onto the collar of his crimson cape. Briefly, he acknowledged that there was something special about the garment, something related to magic, but he let it go in favor of focusing on the visage that was regarding him and the hand that curled around his wrist with enough force to yank free but didn’t.

“Listen...Sephiroth is the only person your hands are dyed with the blood he’s shed. Angeal and I had a choice… If we could go back, I’d still pick what I chose, and I know your lover would do the same…” The raven-haired man’s hold tightened over his and those pale lips twitched as if Vincent wanted to speak but decided to wait until Genesis was done. “And I won’t pretend to know what’s happened in your past, but I think you opposing the Jenova project would have done nothing but put a bullet in your chest, as opposing Shinra did to me…” Tilting his head somewhat, he looked at those crimson eyes that widened imperceptibly. “You might be guilty...but not because you didn’t stop, but maybe…” His voice lowered somewhat in volume, and there was this urge to run his hand through those onyx strands, not because he wanted to know if they felt silky but because he  _ knew  _ they were. “Because you didn’t run away when you could…” Looking down at their hands on a red cloak, then upper just shy of pale mouth, the former Commander licked his lips before continuing. “Maybe that also runs in the family.” And with that he pressed his lips to Vincent’s, not because he was curious, but because he could and because he wanted to. 

He was-immediately-aware of how the body before him froze completely. Really, he wouldn't have been surprised if it had turned to stone. Sephiroth’s sire seemed-for once-entirely caught off guard. The redhead shouldn’t have gotten so much satisfaction from that singular realization, but he did. Genesis was also aware of the fact that the gunslinger didn’t respond, at all. This was also a little bit comforting for the tiny facet of him that still cared about his childhood friend. So when those long hands came up to force him backwards, he didn’t really put up much of a fight. There was the sound of booted feet coming up the front steps and a small facet of him panicked inwardly, the realization of what he’d done only coming to the forefront in that moment. Vincent-it seemed-was equally panicked...because he was suddenly scrambling away from him like he was on fire. It wasn’t soon enough, however, because Sephiroth walked in on the back-end of it, and despite the fact that they were feet away from each other...it wouldn’t exactly have taken a rocket scientist to figure out what they were doing. 

Vincent’s face was about as red as his bandana, and he looked somewhere between horrified and apologetic. Genesis was pale, not that he particularly wanted to  _ apologize,  _ but he still knew he didn’t exactly have any good reasoning for his actions. Green eyes cut between them as the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER propped Rapier against the wall next to the doorway and a book on a wayward side table. Folding his arms, he raised a silver brow...his visage impossible to read. The aura in the room-however-was so thick the former Commander was surprised that he wasn’t wobbling through it like he was swimming through jello. Sephiroth’s presence was a palatable thing, like the counterspell to a confusing enchantment. Opening his mouth and then closing it again, the scarlet-haired man found that he was-for once-at a loss for what to say, however temporarily. A river of silver fell over one shoulder as his partner sighed-almost dramatically-before his lip twitched just slightly. 

“What happened?” He asked dryly. 

Genesis couldn’t fight the tiny smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth. Ducking his head, he stepped forward toward his partner, taking the book from the place where those elegant yet deadly fingers had left it only moments earlier. When he was very much in Sephiroth’s personal space, he placed his free hand over his lover’s shoulder which was shrouded by the cascade of silvery tresses. “I just kissed your father happened.” Glancing at the gunslinger through a fringe of auburn tresses, the blue-eyed individual whispered, his eyes fluttering closed before he placed an ephemeral kiss on the younger man’s shoulder joint. Drawing back just as quickly, he couldn’t help but let the smile stretch further over his lips as those amused green eyes met his. With his fingertips ghosting over the slightly perspiring skin of his lover’s arm, the older man retrieved his sword from the wall, chanced a glance over his shoulder at the awkward atmosphere he’d just created inside the room and left without any further explanations.

No, he didn’t regret anything at all.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

It was impossible to tell what Sephiroth was thinking.

Watching as his son crossed from the entryway to the sofa, Vincent acknowledged that this was the first time he had ever been unable to read any type of emotion from the younger man. Of course, that might have something to do with how completely mortified he himself was, but he liked to think that perhaps the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER had simply gotten better at controlling his temper. This was probably true regardless; considering what the green-eyed man had walked in on, he was frankly astonished the cottage wasn’t in shambles. What was more astonishing was the manner in which he was taking it all in stride. Sephiroth’s posture was exceedingly casual for someone who had just learned his partner had kissed his father. If anything, his overall air of nonchalance was far more disturbing than if he’d have gotten angry. There were only two ways the gunslinger could take it; and that was to assume that the younger man either didn’t care, or he was waiting for exactly the right moment to explode. He wasn’t sure which one he disliked more.  


Personally, Vincent was inundated with guilt.  


He was also inordinately confused; because there was absolutely no reason for Genesis to kiss him. The ebon-haired man had never given him any indicators of attraction, and as far as he was knowledgeable, the redhead didn’t like him very much. He might go as far to say that the blue-eyed ex-Commander thought him exceedingly dull but he’d never voiced the opinion aloud. There was no logical reasoning behind his actions except for the sake of doing them. A part of him was indignant that the scarlet-haired man had thought that it would be something that was welcome. Not that his  _ body  _ didn’t appreciate it, because Genesis wasn’t exactly a troll when it came to looks. But he  _ himself  _ didn’t appreciate it because while the younger man might be attractive, that was pretty much as far as it went. Vincent was not emotionally attracted to the redhead. Sometimes, he wondered how Sephiroth put up with him, because he was about as temperate as the sea and oftentimes twice as obscure. He also had a temper, and while the ex-Turk could appreciate passion, he couldn’t exactly appreciate hysteria...and it seemed like the former First was nearly constantly on the edge of a meltdown. That could-of course, have to do with his experiences in Deepground-and he didn’t blame him for it-but it didn’t make him any more of an attractive potential bedpartner. There was also the singular facet that the man possessed the maturity-as far as he was concerned-of a thirteen year old.

He didn’t know  _ what  _ he was going to tell Angeal.

How was he going to explain to him that his childhood friend had kissed him for the hell of it? It didn’t even sound believable when he thought it through in his head. The entire situation was so surreal and unrealistic he didn’t particularly know what to do. He felt guilty because his physicality had enjoyed it, but at the same time he acknowledged that this was not the singular factor necessary for attraction. The only thing he was capable of doing was confessing to it and then letting it go. Hopefully, by the time it was all over, his relationship would survive it. He didn’t exactly see  _ how  _ it would survive it, but that was what he was hoping for. His first and foremost concern was talking to Sephiroth...but he didn’t even know how to approach that. Despairingly, he railed against the fact that he’d never exactly had a childhood that could amount to dealing with situations like this. Vincent had no prior experiences with random, unwelcome kissing and it was only occurring to him now that maybe that was a little bit sad. The Turk Division discouraged romantic fraternization, and the private school he’d attended as a child was so tight-laced he was surprised that he’d emerged with any type of libido at all. Grimoire Valentine had never worked up to giving him ‘the talk’ and his first sexual endeavors with Lucrecia had resulted in the man currently reclining on the couch like walking in on his sire and his boyfriend kissing was an everyday happenstance.

Grimly, he decided he was going to go back to HQ as soon as possible.

Random attacks of sexual nature aside, he was absolutely sick of being around two people who seemed to be incapable of keeping their hands off of each other. His second day entrenched, he’d been forced to utilize a pair of earplugs to keep himself from listening to his two wards in the shower. Vincent could appreciate sexual attraction as much as the next person, but the length of time and the amount of times Genesis and Sephiroth seemed to need to  _ satisfy _ their needs was-frankly-ridiculous. When he’d texted Angeal about it, he’d despaired at the fact that his partner seemed inordinately pleased at the idea. And-realistically-it was a good indicator that they would at least manage to work some type of living situation out. Because if they couldn’t stop having some type of sex, then they couldn’t start fighting. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t whisper a silent prayer of thanks to Gaia when they regained control of themselves somewhere at the backend of the third day, but he was at least glad that they were getting along. Even if ‘getting along’ involved throwing down wherever and whenever.  


It also made his reports somewhat easier to compose. Lazard had called him at the end of the second day demanding to know why his logs were so short. This had escalated into a bit of an argument until he was forced to tell the head of SOLDIER that there was very little to report because his charges kept dragging each other around with their lips locked...or, oftentimes, with their pants off. The conversation that followed his declaration was stilted and extremely awkward and Deusericus hadn’t bothered to call him since then. Regardless, Vincent needed to leave. It was obvious to him that the two ex-soldiers were getting along fine, and that he wasn’t going to help whatever healing processes they needed to go through. He’d sent in an appeal to somewhat cut back his time not too long ago, and while Administration had been close-mouthed on his end, Angeal had reassured him it was likely to go through...and he was glad. Because he was  _ not  _ going to wait around to see what Genesis did next.  


“You’re taking this all far too seriously.”

Blinking, the ebon-haired gunslinger stared incredulously at the individual on the couch. Sephiroth was leaning forward somewhat, elbows on his knees...silver hair spilling over his lap as he regarded him with a slightly amused expression. Blinking, the crimson-eyed man ran a hand through his hair before swallowing. Not for the first time, he wished that Angeal was there, because at least Angeal would know what to say. He had no experience with this whatsoever. And he  _ hated  _ admitting that he’d been caught off-guard, but he had. Green eyes narrowed somewhat at whatever was in his expression, and he watched as the younger man sat back and sighed.  


“If you need more time to think about this, I’m going to take a shower.”  


“I don’t.” Vincent said hastily. Because he didn't. He didn’t  _ want  _ to think about this anymore. “And I’m sorry.”  


This earned him a raised brow.

“For what?” Sephiroth said dryly. “For Genesis assaulting your face? He does that to every attractive person that walks on two legs.” An idle wave. “It’s not your fault, he’s just incapable of controlling himself, even now evidently.”  


This didn’t make him feel better. If anything, it made him feel worse, and it made him feel angry. Because Genesis had a perfectly attractive partner that he was fairly sure he could do positively anything to and he would still come back to him. Vincent was  _ old.  _ And while he might not look it, that wasn’t any reason to flagrantly disregard the dedication his son had shown to the blue-eyed ex-First. He also didn’t like the fact that Sephiroth seemed to think that this was normal. That it was  _ okay  _ for someone he was clearly madly in love with to kiss other people and then bounce back to him when his interests weren’t returned. A part of him wanted to rise to the defense of someone who obviously wasn’t willing to defend himself, but he knew at the same time that it wouldn’t be welcome. Taking a deep breath, the older man scrubbed a hand over his face before continuing.

“You’re not angry with me?”  


A shrug.

“Not really. Assuming you didn’t encourage it, what were you going to do?” A considering glance. “It doesn’t mean I  _ like  _ you, but I know how Genesis operates. He does things because he can. Just because you happened to be collateral damage doesn’t mean that you’re guilty.”  


Both men paused as the sound of a helicopter became apparent. Frowning, Vincent forced himself to subvert his focus to his phone...he hadn’t received any texts from Angeal that morning, and he’d assumed that there was nothing to report. The only reason Shinra would send out a chopper would be if someone else was coming to the island, or if he was cleared for release, and he hadn’t been told anything of the sort. Casting his gaze around the room, he acknowledged that he hadn’t taken the time to gather his belongings, because he’d automatically figured that his request wasn’t going to be granted. The ex-Turk was forced to tear his train of thought away yet again, because the ambience of the helicopter retreated as quickly as it had come...out towards the edge of the island as the sound of heavy footsteps made their way to the door of the cottage. Fingering Cerberus, the dark-haired man stood very still as a shadow fell across the entryway...tall...looking like the trees that obscured the rainforest beyond. There was a muttered curse in a voice that was very familiar, and his brows drew together in confusion. From his place next to the couch, Sephiroth hesitated before sinking back down...as if reluctant to leave the room now that they knew who was coming. Both men stared in surprise as the door swung open to reveal not some unknown invader, but Angeal. The blue-eyed First fumbled with the handle for a moment before seeming to realize he was not alone. Genesis’ childhood friend paused and then looked up...sapphire irises sweeping over them with a friendly but somewhat curious expression. Sephiroth chuckled, tilting his head to one side.  


“This should be interesting.”  


Peeking from behind a well-built shoulder, Buster Sword was, as always, in its rightful place at the back of the black Soldier First Class issue uniform. His partner looked pretty much the same since the last time he’d seen him, if not a little bit more haggard; however, the effect was lessened without the stubble that dotted the dark-haired General’s youthful face most of the time. And when those blue eyes lit up with a smile as they took him in briefly, the traces of worry and fatigue that seemed to weigh down the First were mostly gone. Slowly, they flitted to the youngest of them who seemed to be in an even more amused mood, and with an infinitesimal nod, Angeal spoke. “Sephiroth.”  


It was strange, the gesture. To anyone who didn’t know the raven-haired soldier, there was nothing out of place; but Vincent had come to know the younger man enough during the past year they’d been together, even though it had been somewhat on and off considering their duties. And just because the gunslinger knew his partner, he knew that nod was the same way Angeal saluted those who outranked him; of course, they weren’t many...but he’d seen it when the blue-eyed General saluted Reeve or Lazard, or anyone whom had earned the First’s respect. It left him somewhat confused, because-as far as he knew-his companion was still somewhat sorrowful about Zack’s and Gillian’s deaths. Maybe, it was simply something borne out of sheer habit of their shared history, and there was also the possibility that the crimson-eyed ex-Turk was simply reading too much into it; especially considering the events that happened prior to the soldier’s surprise arrival.

There was a somewhat tense pause while his partner busied himself with looking over his shoulder at the clearing around the cabin visible from the open entryway before halfway closing the door behind him only to pause mid-gesture, his gloved hand somewhat lingering on the handle. “I don’t wish to intrude, so if my presence isn’t welcome, I could go.”  


Watching as his son blinked slowly, Vincent couldn’t help but think that his progeny was not remaining in the room for entirely innocent reasons. Sephiroth’s stance was that of a spectator, not that of an innocent bystander. With a surge of sincere dread, the older man wondered if this was how the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER intended to exact his revenge; by revealing what had happened and then watching as the carnage unfolded in front of him. The minute the thought crossed his mind, he immediately felt guilty about it. Despite his past, the former General wasn’t known for being unduly underhanded. The crimson-eyed man also seriously doubted that he would go out of his way to start an argument. No, he got the distinct impression that the younger man was waiting for him to tell the truth, or to see if he was at all inclined to tell the truth. Shifting on the couch, the aforementioned individual raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think we have much of a say in it regardless.” He said dryly. “I wouldn’t exactly call your visit  _ ‘thrilling’ _ , but your presence isn’t particularly going to bother me either.” A pause. “Obviously, I can’t state a universal welcome, but on my part...I’m neutrally happy to see you.”

Vincent suppressed an eye roll with difficulty.

It was all well and good to be obscure, but obscurity to the point of density was a little bit over the top. Glancing out of the corner of his eye to the left, he caught his partner struggling to keep a straight face. He looked away before the feeling could catch. Inside, his emotions were conflicted, because while he was glad that the former General was capable of being civil, he was still panicking about his explanation. And it was  _ strange  _ to be on the ‘guilty’ end of things for once, but he couldn’t quite shake the sensation. The ex-Turk could feel Angeal’s eyes on him, but he was incapable of forcing himself to meet them. Instead, he focused on the far wall...making a great show of being expressionless and stiff in the face of one of his charges. Hopefully, the younger man would pass it off as obligatory professionalism.  


“I’m not sure where Genesis is.” Sephiroth continued flatly. “I assume he’s off somewhere being smug by himself.”

And of course his son wasn’t going to make it any easier on him. It was very hard to maintain his focus on the far wall and not give in to the urge to glare somewhat at the silver-haired man; as though the weird atmosphere of the room wasn’t palpable enough, not to mention that Angeal was probably already reading his tense and slightly panicked posture. Nevertheless, he didn’t let anything flash over his facial features, his gloved hand leaving its post from near his holster on his thigh to hover above his cell phone just as the blue-eyed First closed the door behind him, probably feeling slightly more relaxed that he wasn’t going to be invited to a duel to prove his worth for staying at the cabin which was technically Sephiroth’s and-...

“It’s good to see you too.” His partner said kindly, taking off his broadsword only to lean it somewhere near the entrance as he still hovered by the door. “I have to correct you on that matter though, and please hear me out. This island and subsequently whatever is on it, including this cabin is yours; yours and Genesis’. So you have a say in this. I just brought you some more clothes, books and other stuff I thought you might like… and also to confirm Vincent’s reports about your situation before we go back to the HQ.” Sapphire eyes turned to regard him questioningly, and just as the ebon-haired gunslinger was about to open his mouth to say that he hadn’t received any texts pertaining to Angeal’s arrival or the fact that administration had granted his request, the General continued, smiling understandingly, if a little bit apologetically. “I assume my messages didn’t get through... there was a thunderstorm back at Midgar and we had some minor turbulence on the way.”

Vincent let his right hand relax, stepping backward to lean against the closet and cross his arms over his chest as he contemplated the right course of action in the scenario he was faced with. Realistically, this was a discussion he’d have rathered to have with his partner in private, but he wasn’t sure if Sephiroth would let him have his way, considering his previous comment which had gotten somewhat side-tracked by Angeal’s words.

“How’s he?” The blue-eyed soldier asked all of a sudden. “And smug about what? I’ve heard you’ve been getting along.”

Well. Maybe not.

The single fact that the former General was settling into the couch like someone with a giant bag of popcorn told him that this was not going to be a private conversation. And, realistically, it had become a public issue the minute Genesis decided to kiss him. Furiously, the ebon-haired gunslinger wondered where the hell the redhead was now that it was all coming to a head. Then again, considering his track record according to Angeal, he supposed that he shouldn’t have expected anything different. So now it was up to him to pick up the pieces of something he’d never wanted in the first place. Sephiroth made a quiet noise and he glanced over to see that the younger man was looking at him with an expression that appeared to be torn between anticipation and guilt. With a jolt of surprise, the older man acknowledged that his son was just as much a victim to this situation as Angeal was. Observing his posture more closely, he realized that the green-eyed man’s physique was stiff...not smug as he’d previously assumed. That jaw that was so much like his own was tense, almost quivering in its rigidity...and those emerald irises were filled with trepidation.  


_ Oh. _

For not the first time that day, Vincent felt like a complete idiot. Because Sephiroth wasn’t there as a spectator, he was there as a  _ support system... _ as vague and obscure and rude as he was being about it. Sephiroth was acting as the voice that his partner wasn’t...because he felt somewhat responsible. He forced the warmth that bloomed in his chest down, not because he hated it, but because he knew that the silver-haired man wouldn’t welcome it. Still, it was incredibly heartening to acknowledge that his progeny was there to lend a hand and not to kick his feet out from under him. His prompting was more out of a need to get this out in the open, assumably so he could go speak to his partner. Bitterly, the crimson-eyed man acknowledged that the former First was also likely cognizant of the fact that if they didn’t talk about it now, they never would. Both of them were avoidant and brooding, and it was within both their vices to avoid the issue entirely in favor of seeking something more positive. Clearing his throat, Vincent opened his mouth.  


“Genesis…” He hesitated. Angeal’s expression remained the same, kind, loving, and carefully thoughtful. “Genesis kissed me.” Dark brows rose upwards and he cringed inwardly but kept his voice monotone. “I don’t know why, but I-” He gritted his teeth, dread flooding his tongue. “I’m  _ sorry,  _ I-”  


The dark-haired First laughed, or chuckled or… Vincent decided that it really didn’t matter which one because his confusion and surprise pushed to the forefront. It wasn’t a mocking or hollow kind of laugh, it was those very same emotions he’d witnessed only moments ago on his lover’s face brought to the realm of sound; and the bright smile that was currently pointed his way was also understanding and somewhat commiserating. Sapphire eyes flicked toward the couch before abruptly returning to his visage, a gloved hand curling into a loose fist, and it was enough even in his current state of disbelief and guilt to notice that Angeal wanted to approach him, to somehow comfort him but was reigning it in because of Sephiroth’s presence, and the possibility that it might make both of them uncomfortable. Instead, the younger man blinked slowly, his smile widening almost imperceptibly at the corners before he spoke. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to apologize for.” The short locks dangling over the his partner’s brow swayed as he shook his head, those blue eyes glancing at his son before returning to him. “That’s just Genesis being Genesis…Kissing everyone just for the hell of it. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything to him.”

At this, Sephiroth stood up.

For a brief second, it seemed like the pain that spasmed across his face was insurmountable, but it was soon hidden behind his usual mask of indifference. Still, it was clearly obvious that his posture hadn’t changed...that the rigidity behind it was-if possible-even worse. Angeal followed his gaze, though the meaning behind that younger man’s change in position seemed to have escaped him. With a pang, Vincent realized that his partner’s comment was exactly what the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER feared most...being discarded...being unimportant. It had-unwittingly-somewhat solidified a well of trepidation that likely stemmed from years of trying to catch Genesis’ affection...or at least from trying to catch a generalized idea of where his affections lay, and what they meant. He was fairly sure that the dark-haired soldier hadn’t meant it to come off that way; but the silver-haired former General was analytical and succinct...he was going to draw his own conclusions regardless of intent. Ignoring his lover’s generosity for the moment, Vincent stepped towards his son, opening his mouth with the intention to comfort. The look he was given was venomous.  


_ “Don’t.”  
_

He did anyway.

“Sephiro-”

“-I said  _ don’t! _ ” There was a gravid pause, and the former Turk could sense that Angeal’s trepidation was just as virulent as his. Swallowing, blinking rapidly, the youngest of the three let his gaze flick between them. “I’m very... _ happy  _ for both of you.”

This was spat out like a curse, and before he could say anything else, before he could attempt to rectify the situation, the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER was gone. Out the door, into the woods...the rustling of underbrush heralding a path South of the cottage...in the opposite direction Genesis had gone. For a long moment, there was silence. Eventually, Vincent exhaled raggedly...rubbed a hand over his brow and bit back a long, exhausted groan. Because  _ just  _ when it seemed like everything was going to be alright...it wasn’t. And this was a situation where he could wholly sympathize with the individual who was upset. Despite Angeal’s forgiveness, he still felt guilty about it...though it was less directed towards his partner now than it was towards his son.  


“Maybe I should go after him.” He muttered.  


There was the rustle of leather and fabric, and a gloved hand curled around his, tightening minutely. At this Vincent looked up, his partner standing almost in front of him, between him and the door. Crimson irises met blue, and the smile on Angeal’s face was apologetic, a little lopsided and tense. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea… It’s not my place to say anything though… He’s your son.”  


Looking over his partner’s shoulder at the entryway and thinking back on how everything had turned upside down, the ex-Turk was torn between going after the obviously upset silver-haired man or staying out of it. Sephiroth had expressed earlier that he wasn’t angry at him about what had happened, and Angeal had also taken this in stride way better than he might have imagined, his comment about Genesis’ frivolity aside. Now, it was a matter of how the gunslinger was going to deal with his own thoughts and feelings about the awkward mess the redhead had forced upon all four of them, whether wittingly or unwittingly.  


That left his son discussing the whole thing with his fiery lover; and it was between them… Both of his charges reacted terribly to anyone who’d so much as try to act as a support system for either of them; Just as regardless of Vincent’s genuine desire to be there for his son when it all came to pass, Sephiroth had already rebutted his attempts at sympathy or mitigation.

Sighing, the dark-haired gunslinger couldn’t help but look down and away, not moving from where he’d been standing. A hand settled on his left shoulder, the younger man tilting a head of onyx tresses to try and catch his gaze. “Are you alright?” And it was spoken with so much worry and kindness he just couldn’t not meet the concerned blue eyes seeking his. Smiling crookedly, the older man cupped a smooth cheek...feeling the warm slide of epidermis beneath his palm. Those blue irises softened as he did so...and his lips curved upwards as his partner leaned into his touch.  


“Thank you.” Vincent said quietly. “For being so understanding.”  


Angeal’s answering smile was equally tender, and because he hadn’t seen him in a while, and because he  _ needed  _ to, the crimson-eyed ex-Turk drew his companion in for a kiss. It was as much for reassurance as it was for affection, but the slide of those lips was just as intimate as it always was. The taste of his lover was equally familiar...equally comforting, and the gunslinger had to repress a shiver as gloved fingers grasped his...as those of the other hand carded through his hair before cupping the back of his head. They didn’t linger; not because they didn’t want to, but because both of them were equally aware of the fact that this wasn’t their space, and that there was plenty of time for such things later. Retreating somewhat, Vincent made a study of his partner’s face; crimson eyes taking in the exhaustion that was apparent on familiar features. Angeal looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well-if at all-and he was overall the picture of exhaustion. With a pang of concern, the ex-Turk wondered if something was wrong back at HQ that he hadn’t mentioned purely because he didn’t want to worry him. The idea wasn’t exactly far-fetched either, it was a very Angeal thing to do.  


‘Articulate’ was not a word that anyone would use to describe either of them. Vincent was taciturn and a little bit stubborn...and the General was less-than-wordy but overall more open. Their communicative silence spoke volumes more than words ever could. He was often glad for it. One of the major issues he and Lucrecia had run into was their inability to see past each other’s differences. Sephiroth’s mother was social in ways he was not, she  _ needed  _ people in ways he didn’t...and he’d never been able to fully provide that verbose satisfaction she constantly seemed to crave from him. Angeal never asked anything so complicated or out-of-character of him...his silence was understood, even though neither of them had ever voiced such a fact to the other. It was in these silences that they were most cohesive...that their togetherness was the most powerful and tangible. If he’d been a braver man, he might have declared himself  _ ‘grateful’  _ for it...but the ebon-haired gunslinger was neither romantic nor forthright. A finger tapping his temple made him look up, and he smiled ruefully at the slightly curious gaze that was sweeping his visage.  


“How are you?” Vincent asked quietly.  


“Significantly better since I saw you.” The brush of a gloved thumb across his cheek, those blue eyes brightened with the same kind-hearted smile. When a corner of Vincent’s lips twitched in an amused gesture somewhere between a smirk and a smile, the younger man relented. “Just a little tired...it’s nothing.” A short pause. “Headquarters have been a little busy, catching up on soldiers’ treatments, meetings about whether we should continue using the same methods for enhancing recruits or forego human enhancements altogether.” His lover’s hand returned to his shoulder as he looked away, shaking his onyx head. “So far, there’s been no progress. Hollander’s just treating the previous members and running checkups on everyone.”

Right at that moment, there was a shuffle from the general direction of the kitchen, followed by the creak of wooden floorboards. Angeal stepped backwards to put some space between them, a mixture of pain and longing flashing across his partner’s visage for the briefest of moments before the exhaustion seemed to weigh his youthful features down.

“Angeal.” It was Genesis’ voice, neutral yet firm, and Vincent turned around to regard the redhead who was staying just over the threshold of the sliding glass door. There was a sizeable duffel bag-presumably Angeal’s because the gunslinger had seen it around his partner’s apartment-hanging from his son’s lover’s shoulder. It was slowly lowered to the ground while the redhead’s other hand clutched his ruby sword firmly. The ex-Turk had come to realize that tone was pretty much the very same tone that signified that the scarlet-haired former Commander was an unpinned grenade, thus ready to explode at the slightest wrong movement. Deciding that moving his hand-even as tentatively as he could muster-toward his holster wouldn’t remain unnoticed from those cold blue irises observing the General, the crimson-eyed individual decided to wait for the right moment if things were about to take a turn for the ugly.

“Genesis.” Angeal uttered almost quietly, defeatedly.  


A stifling silence settled over the room, all three of them remaining as they were before his son’s lover made the first move; leant his ruby blade next to the wall and stepped toward them, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired soldier standing beside him in the living room. Vincent noted that the redhead’s posture was tense, his hands flexing and unflexing into fists by his sides until he came to a stand by the fireplace.  


“How are you?” The General asked tentatively, his posture the exact opposite of the redhead currently approaching them yet again.  


Coming to a stand in front of Angeal, Genesis’ lips curled into his signature sneer, icy blue irises making a keen study of the visage before them. A red head tilted to the side, and Vincent was somewhat surprised by the blankness of the former Commander’s expression after the sneer faded away. “Finally gracing us with your presence, I see.” There was a short pause. “You look like shit.” His lover’s childhood friend commented flatly, pivoted on his heel and walked toward the window, coming to a stop there with his back to them and crossing his hands over his chest. “Trouble in Utopia?”

Against his will, the ebon-haired man felt his lips twitch. Because despite the fact that he didn’t always appreciate the blue-eyed ex-First’s actions, he had to admire his adherence to his own opinions. The terminology of  _ ‘ridiculously stubborn’  _ was too tame to compare to the individual before them. Genesis was obviously determined to be angry-within reason, of course-and the fact that the house wasn’t on fire was a clear sign someone was doing something right. Vincent wasn’t exactly sure if it was them or the very upset silver-haired man who was probably having an existential crisis somewhere else on the island. And-really-he didn’t  _ dislike  _ Angeal’s childhood friend, he was just very obviously overwrought and somewhat impulsive. The former Turk was fairly sure that he was entirely oblivious to the fact that his lover was upset at all...not because he didn’t care but because sometimes he just didn’t get it. Since the former Commander didn’t seem overeager to look at them, Vincent turned instead to Angeal.

“Kissing aside, Genesis has been an extremely gracious host.”  


When the General gave him a somewhat incredulous glance, he widened his eyes infinitesimally, hoping he would get the picture. From his observance, Sephiroth was fairly well able to keep somewhat of a reign on his lover by showering him with sincere compliments. The ex-SOLDIER was very astute in figuring out when such comments were not genuine, so he attempted to keep the statement as close to the truth as possible. And it  _ was  _ true that both Genesis and Sephiroth had been very tolerant of him. Despite what he’d done, despite what he  _ didn’t  _ do when he’d had the opportunity, they were still civil with him...and that was something he neither needed nor wanted. It was within their power to get along, and he would sincerely like to see that ability extended to Angeal if possible. He knew it was a stretch...with a longer history came a greater sense of betrayal...and both of the men before him had a very long history.

“It’s not our house.” He said, shrugging. “Like you said, I think-with everything in mind-they’ve been fair to me.”  


“I told Sephiroth, and I’m telling you now…” A heavy pause before his partner continued. “I know that I’ve probably overstayed my welcome by now, but-...”

“-But you’re hoping that I’d forget everything that’s happened between us, and be back to friends again.” Genesis finished for him, and all three of them knew that it couldn’t be any further from the truth.

“I’m neither fantastical nor naive, Genesis. I know things don’t work that way, and even if they did, I’m not expecting that from you.” The dark-haired First stepped toward his childhood friend, and the redhead turned somewhat, still looking over his shoulder through a fringe of auburn locks.

“ _Really?_ ” Drawn out, it was mocking, sarcastic and yet spoken with an air of nonchalance that could have been as real as it was see-through. “Your boyfriend begs to differ.” Before Vincent could so much as open his mouth to try and somewhat maintain a semblance of control over the situation, the scarlet-haired former soldier continued, turning around to level cerulean irises with his crimson ones. “I know what you’re doing, so just stop it. You told him about the kiss, he was okay with it.” A shrug, followed by a brief clapping of pale hands. “Congratulations.” His cold blue eyes cut to Angeal’s. “I’m glad you two found each other, I really am.” And surprisingly, it was genuine in a sharp contrast with the previous words the ex-First had spoken. The verity of the sentiment was emphasized with the intermission that followed it, as ephemeral as it was. “I’m sorry about Gillian…” At that his son’s partner looked away again, crossing his arms over his chest as he did. The ex-Turk briefly wondered if it made admitting what Genesis had said easier for him. It probably did; looking away and pretending that neither he nor Angeal were there. “And I’m sorry about Zack…” Maroon irises darted toward the blue-eyed General, watching as the grief slowly etched itself into the lines on his lover’s face.  


The redhead turned to face away from them somewhat, and his partner stepped forward then; probably to try and stop him or to do whatever the two Banorans used to when either of them had been upset. But his son’s lover batted the hand away. “ _ Don’t _ .” Genesis hissed sharply, and it wasn’t dissimilar to how Sephiroth had reacted to his efforts in trying to comfort the silver-haired man. Both of the men standing in front of him winced, Angeal recoiling and stepping backwards as though physically hit. Vincent knew that his lover had probably seen those words as an attempt at a peace offering, only to be disappointed yet again. “It’s too soon for that. I-...I need time.” Azure eyes widened in warning, the space between the former comrades seemed like it was packed with shards of ice before the ex-SOLDIER continued, his visage still pained. “I know what the puppy meant to you… But…” There was a gravid pause. “Gillian was like a  _ mother _ to me… I’d probably be lying if I said I knew your pain. I-...” The former Commander seemed to be struggling with words, forcing them through his teeth, before coming to a halt at the end, cutting himself off, switching gears and changing tactics as he turned his back on them yet again. “Thanks for bringing us stuff, but if you’ve come to retrieve your partner, just get on with it and go.”

Watching as his partner seemed to wilt with the statement, Vincent couldn’t help but feel a little bit torn. Because coming from the redhead, this was  _ progress.  _ It wasn’t an inane amount of progress, but it was still something. It was better than the constant insults that had been thrown around before. At the same time, he was cognizant of how much this affected the man he loved. To Angeal, Genesis was like a brother; maybe a bit of a wayward brother, but a brother nevertheless. There would always be a place in his heart for him no matter what, but there was also a part of the dark-haired soldier that would always want the blue-eyed ex-First to see reason. Not because he thought Genesis was in the wrong, but because he wanted him to be happy again. Sadly, the older man reflected that they couldn’t be the progenitors of such happiness...if it was even a possibility. Happiness was something that needed to occur between Genesis and Sephiroth before it could spread elsewhere, and while they were clearly physically affectionate with each other, they also clearly had a lot to work on.  


Neither of them could be there while that happened. In some sense, he got the feeling that both men were holding back in terms of each other while he was around. Not in the sense of touch, but in the sense of speech. Sephiroth more so than Genesis...but he’d long ago accepted the fact that his son was always going to be more forthright with the redhead than anyone else. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was...in very simple terms...psychologically incapable of forming deep attachments with multiple people. That hurt...a little bit, but with the green-eyed man’s upbringing...with his past...it was understandable. Sephiroth was never going to love the way other people loved. Accepting it was hard, but he was also deeply respectful of the individual who had managed to garner that love...to  _ keep  _ that love and return it despite everything that had happened between them. So when he stepped forward to take Angeal’s hand...to pull him back slightly, it was with the knowledge that if anything was going to go as they wanted it to, it was going to have to go on without them.  


“He’s right.” Vincent said calmly. When Angeal shot him a somewhat sad look, he let his inorganic hand grasp a muscular bicep, squeezing gently. “We’ve done everything we’re capable of doing. The rest isn’t up to us.” Threading his flesh-and-blood finger through large, familiar ones, he brought it to his lips. “Let’s go home.”  


The redhead didn’t acknowledge what he said outwardly, standing as he’d been in the corner of his peripheral vision. Angeal, on the other hand, held onto his fingers firmly, and there was now a flicker of happiness swirling in blue irises along with the sadness he’d seen moments before. His partner’s pale lips pressed into a tight line before they parted to let an almost inaudible  _ ‘Okay.’  _ to pass through; and it was haltingly that Vincent disentangled their fingers to go and gather his belongings from around the house. During the time within which he was packing his possessions-as little as they were-his partner had strapped his sword to his back again, mumbling an equally hushed  _ ‘Take care, both of you.’ _ to his childhood friend before disappearing through the door.  


The circumstances weren’t exactly how he’d envisioned leaving his charges here on the island, especially without saying goodbye to his son. Genesis was still standing there, pretty much statue-esque if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest. If he hadn’t seen the footage from their cells, Vincent would have assumed his son and his lover were probably communicating via their bond, and maybe they were; considering their progress. Outside the window, as the ex-Turk passed it by briefly, Angeal was carrying a big box-probably more things for their charges to make them feel more at ease-up to the porch.  


Turning back to the motionless redhead, he opened his mouth.

“I think Sephiroth may be more upset about...what happened than he let on.” He said carefully. When Genesis stiffened, he hurriedly continued. “It’s not my place, but I want the best for both of you, together. I hope that you treat each other kindly, both of you deserve it. Please tell Sephiroth I said goodbye, I’d go myself...but I think you’re the one he would rather see.” Vincent hesitated and there was a soft  **_*thump*_ ** as his partner assumably set the box down by the door, obviously reluctant to come back in. Gathering his belongings and walking to the entryway, he paused again and turned back. “You would make any parent-any  _ true  _ parent-proud to call you their son...thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for loving mine.”

Without waiting for a reply, he exited the cottage into the sun...a smile creeping across his face as he caught sight of Angeal leaning casually against the railing. Dark hair caught rays of solar brilliance and threw them back...illuminated brilliant sapphire eyes that softened at the sight of him. Pushing away, the younger man paused before stretching out his hand, and the crimson-eyed ex-Turk was helpless to take it. Walking down the steps, he couldn’t help but feel like this was the beginning of something better...something new. A niggling sensation in the back of his mind told him something was off...not necessarily about what they were leaving behind, but about what was ahead. Steeling himself, he fell into step beside his lover and promised himself that he would only focus on what was before him...here...now

...and now they were going home.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Three days.

For three days they didn’t talk to each other; exchanged no words, nothing. The problem was, judging by the way things were progressing, that the situation wasn’t going to get better or resolve itself any time soon. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse by the day.   


While Genesis would have wanted to start training with the silver-haired man after their babysitter was gone, when his former comrade had nearly shut the door in his face the morning after Angeal visited them, it’d been enough to tell him that his company wouldn’t have been welcome. The blue-eyed ex-First had fumed somewhat before deciding to distract himself with reading and later cooking something for lunch. Sitting behind the kitchen island and avoiding each other’s eyes while they’d eaten their meals in total silence had been the most awkward atmosphere he’d participated in making since what seemed like forever ago. In the evenings, he’d go out to exercise, keeping up with his week-old established routine, and when he’d return, Sephiroth would have been done with fixing dinner.

Despite their lack of interaction, they worked rather well around one another. With pangs of nostalgia and sorrow, it’d reminded him of all those times they’d been on missions together, even when they hadn’t been on friendliest of terms. They’d always been a good, proficient team, so it’d been no wonder… Well, it had been- _ begrudgingly _ -to see that they hadn’t lost it after everything that had happened.   


But the realization hadn’t taken from the fact that they were drifting apart yet again.   


What had started as eating their meals separated, escalated into not sleeping together on the same bed, and it was really ridiculous. Frustratingly ridiculous.

Just for some meaningless kiss he’d pressed against Vincent’s unresponsive lips.

It hadn’t meant anything to him. Surely, Sephiroth knew that. If not that, the younger ex-First surely knew the extent of his feelings for him at least.   


What was apparent, however, was that his partner’s sire had been right, and the green-eyed former General was more upset than he’d let on that day. And quite evidently, his lover didn’t know his worth, his place in Genesis’ life.

The thought was enough to make him want to hit someone, or do something, anything that’d serve as an outlet for his accumulating anger. Because they hadn’t spent an entire year learning the mazes of one another’s psyches, thoughts and emotions only to end up here, back to square one. And the fact that something worthless was what had triggered it, something that could’ve as well never happened, made it so much worse.   


Furthermore, the redhead couldn’t simply fathom how his partner-who never had problems with his dalliances before-was now reacting so severely to a harmless kiss. The former Commander knew that such a vein of thought housed many mistaken and totally false facets. For one, this Sephiroth wasn’t the same person he’d fallen in love with back in SOLDIER, and their love now was not a continuation of that which had been, but was in fact, something new; just as they themselves were. Second, he’d stopped fooling around back then when their relationship had gotten serious...and it hadn’t been because of anything his lover had expressed outwardly. It was something that had come naturally to him...and while he’d been certain that his partner had been confident about his place inside their relationship at first-which had turned out to be a faulty perception early on-Genesis had simply felt no need to pursue anyone else; even the thought of it had been bizarre. Just as bizarre as it was now...because what had happened that day between him and Vincent was like he’d offered the ex-Turk an apple and he’d refused; and the redhead was totally fine with that.

Which brought them to the last correction of his thought process; the fact that maybe it was because that person had been his lover’s father. In retrospect, it was probably awkward… He wanted to put himself in Sephiroth’s shoes, but couldn’t; because going around and kissing people wasn’t something his partner did… The green-eyed former soldier wasn’t one who’d take this sort of thing lightly. Also, Genesis didn’t have anyone who-as the silver-haired man had put it-could count as his closest biological relative. Maybe Angeal could’ve counted as his brother in the past, and the image of the green-eyed ex-First kissing Vincent’s boyfriend was not something he wanted to envision in his head ever again...especially considering how the gunslinger’s looks were similar to his companion.

Speaking of said companion, the younger man was currently sitting in the living room, apparently engrossed in a book of Wutain topography and climate which Angeal had brought them along with extra clothes, a chess board, and various other volumes on diverse subjects, including his Loveless. He’d been accosted with a wild urge to throw it inside the fireplace when he’d first discovered it while he’d been unpacking the heavy box at the door, but in the end settled for stuffing it at the very back of the shelf, hidden from his sight.   


Playing with his food, Genesis leant on his elbows against the pristine countertop to see the lunch he’d prepared sitting untouched in his partner’s plate on the coffee table, looking as unappetizing as ever.

Puckering his lips in a very unsatisfied manner, the redhead settled back in his seat before chalking up his own meal as a lost cause and standing up. The scraping of the legs of his chair made the subject of his undivided attention jerk minutely, before those long fingers elegantly flipped to the next page as though nothing had happened; and the mirth he’d felt at getting a reaction out of his partner-as insufficient as it had been-vanished as quickly as it’d come.   


That alone was alike throwing a lit matchstick inside a barn full of hay.

Striding resolutely to the living room, he stood in front of the silver-haired man, blue eyes ablaze as he tilted an auburn head. His presence seemed to have absolutely no effect whatsoever on the individual sitting in front of him, however. Quirking an eyebrow, Genesis opened his mouth, decided against it, only to open it yet again.

“I’m sorry.” There was a pause, a fleeting moment of triumph. Those green irises were still glued to the pages, but the former Commander knew for a fact that the younger ex-SOLDIER wasn’t reading anymore, if he’d been reading at all. “That’s what you want to hear, right?” And the attentiveness was gone, again, as easy and as abruptly as flicking one’s fingers.   


Well, he wasn’t sorry, and both of them knew that he wasn’t. Genesis wasn’t the kind of person who’d lie in order to have his way; at least not to the person whom he considered his equal, whom he trusted, and maybe-possibly-had his trust in return. Stepping forward, he yanked the book out of those digits and threw it over his shoulders, not caring at all about what became of it. “Well, I’m not.” Raising an eyebrow questioningly, with challenge written on his face, he queried. “Got any problems with that?”

The anger that passed over normally impassive features was familiar. That darkness...that sense of roiling inward tempest...it stirred something in him that shrank from it automatically...because he knew what that anger could possibly bring. This time, however, the rage was tempered by a sense of sadness...of resignment. This-if possible-made  _ Genesis  _ angrier, because he was sick and tired of the younger man sinking into this deep well of despair every time something went wrong. Sephiroth shifted...drew back somewhat; reclined in his seat in-what the redhead assumed-was supposed to be a casual position. To him, it was anything but casual. He knew the silver-haired man far too well by now to be fooled by his automatic response to stressful stimuli. The former Commander had spent too many days observing him, mentally and physically, to not know when his partner was upset. He knew-instinctively-that this was an argument that could end very, very badly. Sephiroth wasn’t jealous, but he was a man with a certain amount of pride, he knew there was only so far he could push him before they ended up trying to gut each other.   


An exhale, and he watched as those beryl eyes disappeared under silver-wreathed lids as the former General attempted to ground himself. Long, pale fingers curled over the arm of the couch...digging in until the fabric creaked somewhat under his grip before letting go. The ire bubbling in his gut only increased as the younger man bent over...slowly, carefully, deliberately, to pick up his book. At first, Genesis assumed that he meant to continue reading it-and that was _not_ happening-, but he merely leaned the other way to place it on the coffee table. The air in the room was thick with tension as those slender fingers relinquished their prize with careful ease before they plucked a glass of water from the surface next to it. Gritting his teeth, the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER forced himself to keep his composure as Sephiroth took a long drink. Because he knew if he lost his temper now, he would lose. This was typical ‘Sephiroth’ behavior as well...the deliberate nonchalance in a poor attempt to mask his feelings...the casualty in his actions. Placing his beverage down with the same sort of easy dismissiveness, his former comrade finally looked at him...and those emerald irises were _burning.  
_

“Tell me one thing.” He said flatly. “If he hadn’t pushed you away, if Valentine had acquiesced, would you have kept going?”   


“No.” He answered without hesitation. However, that question brought a smirk to his lips, and Genesis didn’t really feel the need to suppress it. There was also a significant part of him getting even more furious, because oddly enough it felt like he was standing court martial for something he really didn’t feel the need to explain himself for. Switching his weight from one leg to the other, he schooled his features into a nonchalant expression rivaling that of his partner’s. “But what if I did?”

He’d never seen Sephiroth roll his eyes before.   


But roll his eyes he did. With such magnanimous flagrance he was tempted to rip them from their sockets. Because while this was an entirely new gesture, it was directed at him. Like he was a child throwing a temper tantrum. Like the silver-haired man was the mature one in the room and he was somehow screwing up the atmosphere by being childish. No, they could both be childish...if that was the vein he was going for. And in their ‘childishness’ they were either going to fix this or break this. At this point, he was angry enough that he didn’t really care. He didn’t owe Sephiroth anything, as far as he was concerned. That had never been a facet of their relationship before, and he wasn’t going to start pandering to it now just because his partner was insecure. They’d never laid down parameters for fidelity, for actions in terms of others. And he was not going to let the former General _assume_ such things just because other people did it…because the younger man had a narrow focus on definition. That was not at all how he intended to do things. 

“If you  _ had  _ then I’d have been angry.” was the dry response. When Genesis scoffed, his partner shook his head. “I’m not sure why that’s so hard to understand.” He waved an idle hand. “And before you write it off as possessiveness, of course I’m possessive. I love you. Does the idea of me kissing  _ Angeal  _ appeal to you?” He blinked slowly. “Does the idea of me fucking Angeal appeal to you?”   


Narrowing his eyes, Genesis pressed his lips into a thin line. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed his partner had somehow snuck up on him via their mental link and read his thoughts, but that was ridiculous on a whole new level he couldn’t be bothered by it at the moment. The ire he felt had nothing to do with Sephiroth hypothetically wanting to kiss their mutual former comrade, but with the fact that the supposedly more ‘mature’ silver-haired man was simply foregoing the fact that they were entirely different when it came to their extracurricular relationships. While his partner had been more inclined to forgo the entirety of human interactions if they weren’t either included inside mission parameters or for the sake of the press and the public image Shinra wanted to present, the former Commander had simply never felt anything fettering him to anyone as he’d hopped from one affair to another.   


“Oh, so your holier-than-thou preference for solitude was just an act?” The redhead queried sarcastically, already knowing that it wasn’t true. “Come on, Seph...Are you serious? You know as well as I do that you and I ‘operate’ differently. But sure, if the great General Sephiroth is just as much of a philanderer as his redheaded partner, be my guest. Go kiss and fuck Angeal for all I care.” A nonchalant wave of a hand. “I think your father would be more upset than I would.”

The look that he was given told him that Sephiroth would have preferred to have been punched in the face. And...really...it was hitting a little bit lower than was necessary. It wasn’t a secret between either of them that the silver-haired man wasn’t romantically social. Really, he wasn’t  _ social  _ at all. And while the younger man probably had his share of private fucks-which, the redhead reflected, he’d never really asked about-it wasn’t like the green-eyed man had been around the block a couple times. No, Sephiroth wasn’t exactly a cassanova, but that didn’t particularly give him the privilege to insult him about it either. It was-in effect-a very low blow...because it didn’t just insult the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s character, it insulted his manhood. Which, whatever. He had it coming with his sulky, belligerent attitude. And he’d acted like everything was  _ fine  _ when he’d left...so it was his fault for choosing to get all bent out of shape about it either.   


“ _ ‘Holier than thou preference’ _ ” was the deadpan echo. “Really, Genesis? You’re going to stoop that low?” A growl and he was forced to move backwards as the green-eyed man stood, as he leapt from the couch and paced away from him...as if afraid that he’d do something regrettable if he was too close. Leaning against the far wall, the younger man lifted his head to stare at him, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t choose to be insociable because it was  _ fun.  _ I chose it because the alternative had shown me nothing but derision for being different. And you’re going to use that against me? Like it was some sort of-of- _ crutch  _ I leaned on out of convenience?! And you’re going to use it as justification for kissing my  _ father?! _ ” Sephiroth smiled, but it was a cold smile. “You know me better at this point. That’s low Gen.” A scoff. “‘Operate differently’, give me a break. Where was this ‘operation’ before?” Those sanguine lips curled into a sneer. “And I never called you a philanderer. If there’s anything I’ve never done, I’ve never used your sexual escapades against you, ever. I  _ know  _ how much it bothers you when people do that.” A swallow, and the rage in the younger man’s features melted into something a little despairing. “And I always thought that the reason you didn’t like it was because you’d committed to something, because you didn’t want to be driven by past definitions.” A laugh...hollow and bitter. “But we’re different now, correct? We can’t be driven by what we were before, and I made no such demands of you even then. I never demanded your fidelity, and I won’t now.”   


“I didn’t mean it that way, but take it whichever way suits your purpose!” Genesis spat, started pacing to and fro where he was, furious blue irises roaming around the room for something to bring out his fury upon, but the only unfortunate object that was currently dancing in front of his eyes was the poor coffee table on top of which Sephiroth’s lunch sat in a porcelain plate, a book and a nearly empty glass of water. “ _ ‘Give me a break.’... ‘Give me a break.’  _ he says.” The redhead echoed, running a hand through auburn tresses before whirling around to face his partner. “ _ You _ give me a break! You claim you won’t demand my fidelity, you  _ know _ that kiss didn’t mean  _ anything  _ to me, and yet you see fit to ask if I’d continue if Vincent had reciprocated. You ask me if I’d enjoy you kissing Angeal, when we both know you’re not like that. When we both  _ know _ you don’t take these things lightly, and let me enlighten you, I’m saying that as a  _ compliment! _ ” A pause, and he had to curl his hands into fists at his sides to stop them from trembling, but then he was accosted with an urge to punch someone. A part of him shrunk as he boldly closed the distance between them, as he stood well inside the former General’s personal space and tilted an auburn head with a sneer curling his lips. “You go on sulking for  _ three days _ , pull  _ this shit _ on me, disregard all the words I told you back in our cells, my feelings for you and  _ why?! _ just because the one I kissed was someone who’s your  _ ‘closest biological relative’? _ ” Turning around, he was about to get away when a hand clasped his wrist. Yanking free, Genesis didn’t even look behind him as he put more distance between them, kicking the table in a frenzied state of panic before yelling over his shoulder. “What The Fuck Seph?!”

“See, this is what I don’t get.” Sephiroth snapped. “You act like you don’t care, when everything about how you’re acting says that you  _ do.  _ Because if you  _ didn’t  _ care about this, you wouldn’t be shouting at the top of your lungs. And maybe I’m angry because I value your body more than others before me. Maybe I want you to  _ respect  _ yourself, because I respect you. And you can talk about how it was ‘just a kiss’, but it was still something...something you wanted enough to act upon evidently. I don’t know why you did it, and I’ve spent the last three days  _ trying  _ to understand why it was even necessary.”

Pushing off the wall, the younger man appeared to struggle with himself. Out of the corner of his eye, the redhead could see the indecision in his visage. Bitterly, he reflected that he hadn’t wanted to get so emotionally invested in this discussion, that he hadn’t wanted to react the way he did because it never seemed to get them anywhere...but nothing he was saying was  _ getting through  _ to the younger man. With a swift movement, the former General was before him, grasping his wrist yet again, hauling him around so he could face him. Distantly, Genesis acknowledged that green-eyed ex-First was keeping his grip deliberately loose, and while they were close to each other...his partner was angled away from his slightly...giving him an opening to retreat like he hadn’t in arguments like this before. The older man blinked as those perfect, angry features were brought close to his, as breath washed over his face.   


“You don’t get it.” Sephiroth said...and there was a thick vein of sadness in his voice.  _ “You... _ you taught me this. And it’s more than the degree of it...it’s more than the definition of it...of what it was..and what it wasn’t. Over and over again you’ve told me to stop being so hard on myself, to stop blaming myself, to look at myself positively. How the hell do you expect me to respect myself, to  _ defend  _ myself when you don’t even respect the value of us? I didn’t defend us, our relationship before. I  _ failed  _ at that. And by getting angry, I’m showing you I  _ care _ ! Is that so hard to comprehend?! That I care about what we have enough to stand up for it even if you won’t?!” A very, very light shake. “Hello,  _ Genesis... _ I’m doing  _ exactly what you told me to.”    
_

Genesis wanted to yank his hair free from their roots. Because this was yet another misunderstanding escalating quickly into something neither of them had intended to, also out of control. He understood every single word the younger man was saying, agreed with them even-to a degree-but it just seemed no matter how he arranged and rearranged his own sentences, Sephiroth was fixated on one point, and couldn’t seem to be able to move past it. Believing that things couldn’t simply get any worse than either of them had experienced before, the former Commander decided to hell with it.   


Freeing his hand from the loose hold around his wrist, he cupped the sides of the gorgeously furious face in front of him and smashed their lips together. Passionate, heady, angry, bruising and biting against the unresponsiveness of his partner’s perfect mouth. His body surged against his lover, like a river of lava meeting the roiling waves of an emerald ocean, hissing, ruinous and explosive. Just as the silver-haired ex-SOLDIER was about to do anything, to reciprocate or to draw back, the redhead pushed him away. “ _ That’s _ how I kiss you.  _ This  _ is different.” A brief pause as his burning blue eyes roamed over his lover’s physicality. “So see,  _ you _ don’t get it. That kiss was nothing...it wasn’t even comparable to what I have with you. It’s inconsequential, and you’re spinning it into a nightmare by fixating over it…” With a fire burning in his eyes that was starting to have less with anger and more with fervent desire, with hunger and lust, he stepped forward. “I want you to be possessive, I  _ enjoy  _ it. I  _ relish  _ your anger in our defense, but Seph…” A ghost of an understanding and commiserating smile. “There’s nothing for you to defend against here.” When they were almost chest to chest, he came to a stop. “I’m yours and you’re  _ mine _ .  _ Let it go. _ ”

He knew, realistically, that it was a shot in the darkest of rooms. Sephiroth was stubborn, ridiculously stubborn...they were  _ both  _ ridiculously stubborn which was why when they fought like this they always ended up at some sort of stalemate. Just because he himself was ready to acquiesce didn’t mean that his partner was ready to. Watching as the emerald eyes narrowed somewhat, the redhead acknowledged that this was either going to go very badly or very well; because they only seemed to be capable of doing things by extremes. There was a part of him that wanted to keep fighting, but there was also a part of him that wanted the younger man to reciprocate. Because if he couldn’t  _ tell  _ Sephiroth how he felt, he could at least try to  _ show  _ him.   


Genesis startled when the hand at his wrist tightened, when Sephiroth yanked him forward before seeming to relent. Green eyes zeroed in on his mouth, and the almost-invisible flush that colored those cheeks made the redhead slightly hopeful. The General was-so he’d found-very responsive to pleasure since their time apart...he supposed he must be as well. It made sense, in a way. Because both of them were slightly different...he from his experiences in Deepground, and his companion from his time in the Lifestream. So he was surprised, and he wasn’t, when the silver-haired man kissed him. Furious, rough,  _ hot... _ and Sephiroth’s hand left his interphalangeal joint to clutch his collar as he let all his rage out through the exchange. The green-eyed ex-First breathed out in a rush when the scarlet-haired former Commander nipped at the lower portion of his lip, shivered when Genesis thrust his tongue into his mouth and plundered it mercilessly.   


Lithe hips snapped against his before pulling back. Unconsciously, the older man reached up to tangle a hand roughly in the that fall of silver hair...began to walk them backwards before they both stumbled over something-the coffee-table. Righting themselves in a fumble of irate physicality, they were forced to circumvent it...hard, fiery kisses not exactly helping whatever aim of trajectory either of them were pushing for.   


“You’re not-”

The blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER growled against parted, swollen lips, let his tongue dive between them again to shut the younger man up. Because  _ no,  _ they were not going  _ backwards  _ right now. Sephiroth’s back hit the wall and he appeared to struggle for a moment before distraction won out over unwillingness to yield. His free hand came up to dig into the older man’s jaw before it swiped backwards in an entirely not very gentle gesture to dig into his hair. The acoustics of their exchange were wrought in the otherwise total silence of the cottage; the slide of clothes, the occasional rough hitch of breath; soft hisses and the occasional broken groan that was cut off as quickly as it came.   


Pressing the length of his physicality against the lithe virile body in front of him, Genesis didn’t seem to be able to get enough, too many clothes and too much fabric were separating them. Pulling his hands from their posts inside the thick mane of his lover’s hair, he curled his fingers around the neckline of Sephiroth’s sweater. The briefest of smiles stretched his lips against his partner’s, somewhat hindering the effect of their otherwise heady kiss as he tried to rip the cloth in half. There was a slight tearing sound but the textile held out, and he had to pull even harder to finally hear it rip, the sound making him grin devilishly as the younger man’s chest was presented to him. “Off, off.” The redhead urged, pulling on the hem of a sleeve before letting his fingertips luxuriate just slightly over the edge of torn fabric. There was a dark look in green irises as the former General acceded, his eyes never leaving him even as his view was obscured by his own sweater when he pulled it over his own head, toeing off his track pants. Just as he was about to get rid of the offending garment covering his torso, strong palms pulled him flush to the figure in front of him while an unrelenting mouth pressed just beside his jugular notch.   


Genesis was helpless but to arch into it, moaning as hot open-mouthed kisses trailed down his chest before wandering up again to his shoulder...and no, no, this wasn’t going to work. Pressing an equally searing kiss to the hollow under his partner’s ear, he tried to catch that burning mouth with his, having to break the liplock just as quickly to catch his breath as Sephiroth took his erection in hand. Too much friction, and the groan that bubbled up his throat wasn’t voluntary. Quickly, he tried to swat it away but to no avail, so instead the redhead gripped his lover’s hips, pulling down his pants as far as he could without breaking their mind-shattering kiss that was going straight down to his groin and making him curl his toes. Mirroring the former General’s gesture, they both had to pull away, blazing sapphire meeting burning green as they both panted. The scarlet-haired ex-First smiled devilishly then; walking backwards, he stumbled over his pants and whatever and nearly fell if it weren’t for the hand that caught him before he pulled them both down to the ground.

The landing-thankfully-was not as jarring as he’d anticipated it would be. Not with the jumble of their arms, legs, and bodies. Above him Sephiroth was a panting, passionate wreck and it never got any less glorious to see those beautiful green eyes hazed over with pleasure. The anger in them was gone, though the mouth that descended to press against his was no less fierce. There was a brief amount of fumbling as his partner kicked off his pants in a flail of musculature...a flex of sinew and skin as the former General became deliciously, beautifully naked before he was pressing down upon him once more. Long hands gripped his sides, kneaded the flesh there as that head of silver hair bent to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, hips grinding languidly as hot pleasure shot from his groin all the way down to his toes. Genesis bucked into it, threw his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling until long fingers stretched upwards to card through his hair in a gesture that was almost obsessive. Breathing heavily, the scarlet-haired man let the palm of his left hand glide along his partner’s spine until he could grasp his ass. Letting the tips of articulate digits dance across the epidermis...he lingered briefly before digging them in and squeezing.

Sephiroth groaned.

It was a heady, tremulous thing...caught on the ragged edges of tumultuous desire laced with a kind of desperate satisfaction. If the former Commander hadn’t been extremely hard before, he was  _ aching  _ now, and he swallowed against the suffusion of his pleasure. The body above him stilled before a quivering mouth closed over his once more, before an adroit tongue snaked between his lips to flick hungrily against his until he responded with equal ardor. Genesis’ head felt heavy with the weight of it...like his mentality was spinning into a singular pinpoint of prehensile focus. He let the other hand come down...repeated the gesture with both palms and was rewarded once more. The younger man surged against him, thrust into the soft juncture where hip met groin until he could feel the sticky slide of precome on his skin. His former comrade whispered something that initially sounded like his name but was really just the first few letters of it before his verbalization petered out into a garbled exhale. Kissing up the line of the blue-eyed ex-First’s jaw…the silver-haired man let his teeth latch onto his earlobe before pulling gently, teasingly.   


_ “Gen…”   
_

His lover’s voice shivered down his spine, and it wasn’t at all unlike a spell as Genesis stilled under the younger man, tilting his head somewhat so Sephiroth had to pull away slightly. Their eyes met and the scarlet-haired ex-First couldn’t stop himself from being utterly mesmerized by those brilliant beautiful irises that were somewhat softened with affection, darkened by desire. “ _ Say it again. _ ” He whispered, pleaded, a distant echo of a distant but unforgotten, unforgettable past as his hands glided up lean sides, settling just over his partner’s lats.   


_ “Gen…” _   


“I love you.” The former Commander couldn’t help but let the words, and a portion of his soul spill over his lips as he gazed up into the emerald pools he loved so much. Hooking a leg around a muscular waist, Genesis nudged them over.

* * *

Sephiroth went with the movement, even if it was just to see those azure eyes watch him go with a look akin to wonder, amazement and adoration.   


“I love you.” Genesis whispered, his voice low as he repeated yet again. “ _ I love you. _ ”   


The heavy weight of his partner was a welcome thing; the lines of the body he knew possibly better than his own a steady yet giving presence. Green eyes blinked at the overhead fixtures as his partner whispered the sentiment again...this time against the hollow where neck met sternum. Vocal declaration of love was a rare thing for Genesis. Not because he didn’t mean it otherwise, but because it was so meaningful to the redheaded man nuzzling his jugular. Swallowing, the former General craned his neck somewhat to place a kiss to the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s temple; inhaled deep the scent that was that of his companion and his alone. Genesis breathed out in a soft huff, a long fingered hand snaked between them to curl gently under a leg...digits pressing inward in a tentative gesture. Sephiroth spread his thighs without really thinking about it, acknowledged the intimacy of the movement when the scarlet-haired man’s exhale caught itself at the edge of its gradual taper...became something soft and weighty. Blue eyes met green as the older man lifted his head...as those beautiful features observed his in a searching, gravid manner that he was unaccustomed to. The moment seemed somewhat pensile...like the slow thump of a heartbeat...the rush of blood in labyrinthine veins.

When they kissed again it was slow and deep; sweet and supple. The hand grasping him traveled up his thigh...gripped lightly to hitch it upwards slightly-hooking over his hip-as Genesis lifted them somewhat to adjust his position. A warm mouth sucked at his lower lip, worried it slightly before covering his own fully and heat flowered in his cheeks as their oral exchange became an absorbed, potent thing. Sephiroth heard himself make a low, responsive noise that bubbled up in the back of his throat before rolling over his tongue. His partner responded with a muted moan; his free hand running up and down his side as the silver-haired man let his fingers run down the middle of a powerful spine. His back arched involuntarily as the former Commander worried his neck, as he laved the dermis there like it was something to be savored...and maybe it was. Their argument was negligible in the face of this… _ this  _ was how they spoke to each other during times of duress. With their physicality and their emotions rolled into one. Mumbling something negligible, the younger man gently tilted the redhead’s chin...waiting until their gazes were locked once more before speaking.   


“I love you too.”

The rosy shade that dusted his lover’s high cheekbones was beautiful, making him want to trace the soft skin where there were almost invisible tiny freckles with his fingertips, to brush feather-light kisses just under where the crimson bow of Genesis’ lashes were dusting his cheeks. The older man ducked his head, and a searing mouth latched itself to the base of his neck, and his skin burned while his fiery partner seemed to be rediscovering his body, tracing it with his fingertips...a gentle touch here, a perfect mouth sucking a kiss, the flick of a tongue, a firm brush of a palm… The former Commander kept trailing lower and lower still until he settled between his legs, gazing at him heatedly with hooded eyes, before those burning azure irises were veiled by red-wreathed lids as his partner descended to place equally hot, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs; this time making a slow but inevitable trek upwards, once in a while observing him through the fringe of long tresses. Sephiroth couldn’t help but want for more, fingers flexing and relaxing, nails digging into the woolen fabric at the edge of the rug...his breaths catching on exhalations that were perhaps half a part of his companion’s name, half a moan...an unintelligible utterance in a plea for him to continue…

When the tip of a pink tongue darted just outside those sanguine kiss-swollen lips to lick them, the former General couldn’t stop the hungry growl that rose up his throat; and those cerulean irises that could have been on fire observed him just as ravenously. The older man’s hot breaths ghosted over his heated flesh, and the moan that was elicited from his throat was strangled somewhat as his breath caught yet again when the perfect heat of that mouth descended on the head of his arousal; soon enveloping it in its moist warmth, the slide of a dexterous tongue over the underside of his cock… His other hand that wasn’t occupied with the carpet reached to that thatch of red currently bobbing up and down between his legs, fingers tangling gently inside the soft locks. The moan he was rewarded then-both in appreciation and encouragement-vibrated around and along his erection; shivered up his spine and pooled in the bottom of his stomach.   


Genesis was going languorously, his rhythm petering off slowly until with a teasing slide and a soft wet pop he let go. Long fingers gripped his hips then, hoisting his hips upward somewhat, and then the silver-haired man knew what his partner was going to do; and no, he was going to melt into a puddle of jelly if the redhead did that, and that wasn’t fair...and  _ oh _ .

The initial swipe of the older man’s tongue was a shivering, moist phenomenon. Flush against him, the appendage began a slow, circular motion that spiraled inwards before retreating with a series of sharp, staccato flicks. Sephiroth’s breath caught and he lifted his hips somewhat before a firm hand settled him once more. A swift press inward and the flush that had previously only accosted his cheeks crept down to his neck...a pale roseate manifestation of his pleasure as he lifted a hand to his mouth...attempting to muffle himself to some degree. It was  _ hard;  _ what with the way the former Commander was taking him apart. Every pass over his entrance brought with it a rolling throb of hedonistic desire that had his toes curling even as he lifted an arm over his head to let his fingers bunch in the rug. He could feel the amount of restraint the scarlet-haired man was implementing to prevent himself from pushing too hard, and a small part of him whispered that this was somehow different…but he couldn’t make himself concentrate on it when it felt like he was coming apart from the inside out. Letting his arm drop, the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER managed to get a hand on his erection before it was slapped away. Genesis made a low, disapproving sort of noise and he relented, letting his head flop backwards.

The first full inward thrust caught him off-guard.

Not because he wasn’t expecting it, but because it felt so  _ good.  _ Vaguely, he heard himself groan...felt himself try to spread his legs more before undulating into the gesture. His partner shivered...strongly enough that he could feel it. Large palms came up to curl around his thighs-to get a better angle-and the exclamation that followed the first was slightly louder; more debauched. Sephiroth felt his vision swim somewhat as the former Commander fucked him with his tongue...felt how its occasional retreat left him feeling empty. Forgoing his cock for the moment-which he wasn’t allowed to touch anyway-the silver-haired man attempted to keep himself from rutting into his partner’s ministrations. He was hard...achingly hard despite the lack of direct contact, and he had to bite back a moan whenever Genesis brushed his fingers over him...almost teasingly before reverting his focus once more. Wet...warm and curling…an intrusion that was gratifying and yet not quite enough. And he didn’t know where this newfound desire was coming from, but he wasn’t complaining about it, at all. A casual, almost negligent suck and he swore-immediately was shocked with himself-and again his partner murmured something soothing as he repeated the gesture. He felt it to the tips of every extremity, but it was especially apparent in his thighs...which clenched involuntarily.   


“Gen’sis.” He slurred, feeling half-mad with the sensation of it all. More tongue...harder,  _ deeper… _ and the fragmented heave of breath he proffered as an antiphone held the tremoring fringes of a whine. Genesis groaned against him in response; the lithe fingers around the upper part of his legs tightened somewhat and he lifted his head to watch as his partner’s hips jerked downward-seeking friction from whatever they could reach-before stilling once more. Thick scarlet locks occasionally tickled his groin, but it was a sensual thing now-aroused as he was-instead of a distraction. The middle and forefinger of the older man’s left palm stroked the soft skin on the inside of his thigh...covetously, as if there could never be enough before abandoning their post and pressing just-so into his perineum; Sephiroth nearly bit through his lip. “ _ Gen…”   
_

Genesis sucked yet again, and the silver-haired man wasn’t sure if the curse that had spilled over his mouth was intelligible. But whatever and however way he’d uttered it, it seemed to affect his partner in a good way… the redhead shivered again, his hips bucking as a groan was muffled between his glutes. That relentless tongue however didn’t seem to want to stop his ministrations, not that Sephiroth wanted it to, but the tide that was rising within him, the pleasure that was pooling in his groin seemed to undulate in a constant ebb and tide with the ingress and egress of the hot appendage. His fingers tangled themselves in those fiery locks, and the exhalation that was a plea in the shape of his lover’s name rewarded him with yet another deliciously strong shudder, a tightening of the grip of those long fingers…and finally, a burning azure eyes came into his view, darkened with lust, followed by a rubicund mouth hanging slightly open… The older man was descending on him again…the frictious drag of a plump lower lip against the underside of his cock had the former General groaning, wincing slightly at the fleeting teasing hint of sharp incisors.   


His lover’s body was a sinuous wave as heady open-mouthed kisses started blooming in the trek that burning mouth was making up his torso, only to be distracted by his nipples…sucking; the feather-light brush of fingertips around an areola, a tongue flicking and licking against the soft-hard tissue, pinching… Sephiroth couldn’t stop arching off the floor, blindly reaching between them, fumbling a little, and finally…his long digits curled around the impressive hard-on Genesis was sporting, precum slicking his fingertips as the green-eyed individual stroked it from base to tip before brushing the frenulum with the pad of his thumb… The reaction he was rewarded with made him want to do it over and over again…and he was helpless to succumb to it.

The scarlet-haired man atop him bucked into it, his lithe body arching beautifully; the magnificent curve of a pale throat as Genesis bowed his head, his beautiful blue eyes fluttering closed, the hint of pearlescent teeth biting down on a luxurious lower lip before his mouth parted, a moan trailing off into a hot exhalation, and  _ “Seph…”    
_

The former Commander’s hips jerked in rhythm with the movements of his wrist, seemingly losing his mind on top of him as his physicality slowly but surely gave itself over to pleasure. And he wanted to retain the glorious sight before him...wanted to drink it down until there was nothing left...not even the dregs. At the same time, the silver-haired man acknowledged that he was aching for something more cumulative, something more binding. And while he knew it was too soon to ask to make love to his partner...he could offer himself. A slight shiver of apprehension slithered at the pit of his stomach, but more prominent than that was the desire. Despite the fact that Genesis’ mouth was no longer poised at his entrance, he could still feel the lingering ghost of his touch...the way his body seemed to hearken to it...to want more instead of less.   


Forcing himself to let go of his lover’s erection, he hissed slightly when the older man nipped at his shoulder in response...a disappointed sound falling from his lips even as he stilled. Carding his hands through crimson locks, the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER gently urged his partner back...until heated viridian met glazed sapphire. Genesis looked-predictably-impatient. Every so often, he would feel the nudge of his arousal against his belly. Drawing the former Commander in for a deep kiss, Sephiroth let his legs fall apart a little more...let them slide upwards, let his thighs hug the strong contour of a lithe waist. When his former comrade stiffened slightly he arched somewhat to show his willingness in terms of the position, tipped his head back against the carpet before lifting it to meet the redhead’s gaze again. Letting his lips mouth over the flush of a stubborn jaw, he spoke.

“I want you,” He said raggedly. “I want you to fuck me.”   


Those azure irises were suddenly overcast by a myriad of emotions Sephiroth couldn’t differentiate from one another. They flicked over his visage a couple of times as Genesis went utterly still above him, searching, questioning and yet at the same time, not; because everything about their current position made his intent crystal clear. The absence of movement was so jarring compared to the way they’d been undulating together only moments ago, and it seemed somewhat like a small eternity of the younger ex-SOLDIER wondering if he was going to be rebuffed until his lover finally moved; disentangled himself from him, and the pale beautiful visage was shut-off as the former Commander settled between his legs yet again. Blue eyes darted to the couch for the briefest of instants before returning to him; pale ivory digits rose to sanguine lips to gather spit before curling around his partner’s straining cock.

Almost instantly, the silver-haired man was aware that something was different. It was very subtle, almost like a drop in air pressure. But instead of pertaining to the barometric, his partner’s transformation was something psychical. The grip on his erection went from somewhat lax to almost painfully hard before relenting once more. Something flashed in sapphire eyes...something dark and hungry...but not hungry in a way that he was familiar with. At the same time, there was a part of him that perceived it...some small remnant of who he had been before this that rose to answer its herald;  _ submitting  _ in a way that left him breathless and extremely confused. It was desirous, yes, but it was also extremely subservient...almost knee-jerk in its proclivity. Yet another facet of him was akin to it, or at the very least, it recognized it and compared it to something dark and terrible that he used to be. Because the look in those eyes was filled with a dark, lustful rage that whispered recompense. As quickly as the expression became apparent, it disappeared. A hot mouth nuzzled the apex where groin met thigh and he relaxed slightly...though not by much. Heated lips sucked on sensitive epidermis and he shuddered, his eyes closing as he pushed his concerns to the side.

Genesis bit him.   


_ Hard.  _ Specifically, he bit him so hard that he was sure that bruises were already forming. The former General made a surprised sound that was halfway between a groan and a yelp. Because it hurt, but it also felt good. A hand on his leg traveled upward to press his hips down...to pin him to the floor and the green-eyed ex-First felt his head spin. Another nip and he jerked wantonly, his breath coming fast and ragged as his brows pulled together. He knew-from hearsay-that some people derived pleasure from pain. He had never done so before, however, or his encounters with injuries on the battlefield and otherwise would assumably be much more pleasant. He tried to open his mouth, tried to say something-to address the issue-but the only thing that came out was a hiss as rough fingers prodded at his entrance before yanking themselves away. Sephiroth chased the sensation-seemingly without his own personal consent-he chased the slight burn of it even as a part of him shied away from it.   


He’d always assumed that they would do this in a gentle manner. Though-to be fair-they had been fighting. Maybe the redhead wanted to claim him to reassure him of his place in his life...or maybe this was just what he’d intended all along. But the older man’s previous gestures had been passionate, not punishing...and it was confusing to associate this with himself...to acknowledge that there was a facet of himself that wanted this punishment. It whispered that this was necessary, that this was protocol and that he needed to submit. But Genesis seemed conflicted; seemed to want this and  _ not  _ want it at the same time. There was a distinct unevenness to his gestures, and with anyone else he might have assumed it was inexperience, but Genesis was anything but inexperienced. He hadn’t gotten his reputation as a veritable sex idol for doing absolutely nothing. Rough fingers dug into his ass cheek, gripped until the sensation of it was a red-black flash up the back of his spine. The former Commander’s breathing was as ragged as his...those eyes were dark pools of unnameable emotion. It felt like love…

...But it also felt like  _ hate.   
_

“Gen.” Sephiroth said urgently. He shivered as the fingers returned, appeared to try harder this time before they were retrieved almost frantically. “Gen- _ hn!- _ what?!” He tried to get up, was immediately slammed back down. Again, and this time he stayed...trying to think past his physicality-which practically screamed that he  _ wanted  _ this-in order to remain logical. “Genesis!”   


Genesis hung his head, the groan that bubbled up his pale throat dragging into a choked whine before the grip on his hip relented, and Sephiroth was fixed with an intense blue glare before those dark eyes looked down at probably their arousals. The fingers clutching his hip dug half-moon crescents in his skin yet again as his partner hissed “ _ Stay. _ ” and scrambled to his feet, stumbling somewhat, and the silver-haired ex-General tilted his head upwards as he heard something rattle-the coffee table-as the former Commander hit his shin against it. Cushions were being thrown aside on the couch before ivory digits procured a tube of lube from underneath the black vinyl pillows, and in the blink of an eye, the blue-gazed individual was where he’d been before.   


Sephiroth really couldn’t make any sense out of this situation as the tube was discarded beside them on the floor, a slick right hand stroking Genesis’ cock with hurried swipes before coming to push his thigh up against his chest. “Gen, what-...” The weight of his lover’s body settled against his as he uttered urgently only to have to stop halfway, wincing against a burning pain as the head of his partner’s erection nudged against his entrance; the way he was tensing not helping to ease the burn at all.   


The redhead wasn’t looking at him, never seeming to be able to tear his eyes from whatever he was trying to do, as though doing so would somehow scatter his undivided focus. “Genesis!” The younger man tried again, tried to get up but the hand that splayed on the ground by his side, the clavicle digging somewhat into the back of his shin as the heaviness of his lover’s physicality pressed against his thigh didn’t leave much room for him to move. The former General had to stare disbelievingly at a head of auburn tresses as his partner somewhat effectively pinned him to the ground while those red locks obscured Genesis’ pale visage as he tried going at it yet again...the inevitable press of a hard-on against…before it stopped right there and then.   


The man above him went utterly still, tension wafting off him in waves. The tangible silence between them was broken by sharp ragged intakes of breath on both their sides, but they didn’t take away from how deafening it was.   


That head of fiery hair ducked even further then…and something damp and wet hit his chest; again, before the shoulder pressing into his leg shook, really the entire frame on top of him trembled with a tremendous amount of strain. And he was so  _ confused.  _ Because Genesis could be as rough as he was arduous, but he was thorough, not  _ reckless.  _ It took him a moment to realize the redhead was crying. When he did, he was-if possible-even more flummoxed. This time he applied his full strength to pushing his partner away. He was forced to abandon resilience for damage control when the older man nearly sprawled onto his back. Long, pale limbs shivered as he caught them, as he drew them both upward-onto their knees-into an embrace. There was a great, shuddering gasp and he didn’t know what to do except encircle his former comrade with his arms. For a moment, it seemed like Genesis was going to resist. Hard hands gripped his hips again only to tremble before dipping downwards to snake around him and hook together at the small of his back. That head of crimson hair buried itself in the crook between neck and shoulder as the former Commander made a sound that was halfway between a shout and a sob...digits digging into his spine as he apparently lost all semblance of control.

“It’s okay.” he murmured. When the blue-eyed man made as if to push him away he clutched him tighter.  _ “Stop.  _ It’s okay. You don’t have to do this, I’m  _ sorry.”   
_

Moisture bloomed behind his eyes even as guilt suffused his being. Because he shouldn't have been so  _ stupid.  _ He shouldn’t have pushed this before Genesis had offered. Carding his hands through thick red locks he pressed a desperate, apologetic kiss to a flushed temple. He was-intimately-aware of how important it was for him to remain open, to remain reciprocative. If he didn’t, he knew that the older man would shut down and push him away. Crooning something nonsensical, he shoved his anguish to the side in favor of comfort. Swaying once, he held the trembling body in his arms and wished that things could-for once-be somewhat easier for them. Because of course Genesis would see his offering this way, as an offer of recompense. He hadn’t meant it that way, of course, but it was still there. Buried underneath whatever changes they may have made together was the truth that he had still forced himself upon his partner. And desire could only make up for so much...especially in cases like this. When the physicality pressed against his stilled; when the soft, hitched vibrato of his quiet sobs relented somewhat Sephiroth urged him back. His heart clenched as he came face to face with red-rimmed sapphire eyes, with a twisted, downturned mouth. Cupping wet cheeks he stared into ocean-colored irises and tried to relay the amount of understanding that was surging in his soul.   


“Genesis.” He whispered. When those cerise lips quivered somewhat he let his neck droop until their foreheads were pressed together. “ _Genesis._ ” Twice more he repeated it, until it was somewhat of a refrain...like the lines in a stanza. “It’s okay, I love you.” He exhaled against the thickness of the grief building up in his chest. “I just wanted you...I still want you, I will always want you and this sort of thing, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need it.” The former General pressed a kiss to the older man’s brow. “Thank you for trying. I can’t-I can’t _imagine_ how much that must have cost you.”   


Articulate fingers curled around his wrists gently, the redhead pressing his eyes shut for a long moment before looking back at him...with a long-suffering sort of affection perhaps, but there was simply no trace of that twisted darkness swirling within them anymore.... “ _ You idiot. _ ” His partner whispered, and if there was a person on Gaia who could make an insult sound like an endearment, it was the man in his arms. Freeing a somewhat flushed face from his hands, Genesis mirrored the gesture, rising slightly to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry...” was an almost inaudible whisper before Sephiroth had to close his eyes as that luxurious mouth brushed the corners of his eyes gently. The apology was repeated two times more before his partner drew back. For an infinitesimal moment, he was greeted again with the heart-breaking sight of his lover’s beautifully red-rimmed eyes yet again before the former Commander looked away. “ **_I’m_ ** _ sorry _ for hurting you… for almost dragging us back to the brink of ruin… I’m sorry…” And those eyes pressed shut again, the drying tear-trails coming back to life as more saline droplets rolled down the slope of high cheekbones.   


Sephiroth was at a loss for what to say, and what to do. What his partner had whispered hadn’t assuaged the grief rising up inside him, hadn’t made the gravity and the delicate state of their current arrangements any less real. So, it was with even more surprise that he watched Genesis close the distance between their faces to press trembling, somewhat salty tasting lips to his. It wasn’t a desirous gesture, no, but something tender in stark contrast to what had transpired only minutes ago; an apology perhaps, because they always communicated with their physicalities when morphemes failed them. There was no mistaking the slightly off rhythm intake of breath before the older man pulled back enough to lean their foreheads together. “I want you...I want what you’re offering me...as I want all of you...now and forever…” Cerulean irises bored into his and they were so close it was almost all he could see: azure. So close he could almost drown in them. “If you’ll have me, that is…”

Sephiroth would have him.   


Not because he felt obligated to, and not because he needed the assurance. No, Sephiroth would have Genesis because despite all this, despite all they had been through…he was always going to want him. And he was used to feeling grateful to the man before him; for his ability to forgive, for his ability to  _ see  _ him and see not only something different but something individual...something worth loving. He was always astounded by it, always left a little bit winded...breathless...in the face of so much devotion. Instinctively, he knew such sentiments wouldn’t exactly be welcome, that he couldn’t go off on a tangent about how glorious his partner was right now because it was a known appreciation. And so when he angled his head to kiss upwards over saline trails it was both with the knowledge of continuity in the face of struggle, and with the wholehearted appreciation of someone who could not ask for more, because he was already given so much. The former General took his time...let his lips speak for him as he let his fingertips swipe in a slow spiral from the redhead's temples...backwards just a little before returning to their starting point in a soft...tender motion.   


When he could no longer taste salt under his tongue, Sephiroth drew back once more to look into sky-colored irises...drank in the sight of those glittering depths as he let a smile curve his lips upward subtly. Moving to capture that familiar mouth, he kept it chaste...let the kiss speak for him as he let one hand drop to curve over the jut of a hip bone. It was a testament to their familiarity with each other-to the intimacy of their exchange-that they could discuss things like this...in the middle of so little and yet so much. Not to say that it was negligible...no...it was merely the fact that they were getting to the point where they could move past things like this that was telling. Letting his head drop onto a broad shoulder, the younger man inhaled deeply...silver lashes fluttering as long-fingered hands carded through his hair; pressed himself closer as Genesis echoed his gesture. And it was still like this...not the stillness of auditory silence...but the stillness of a kind of heavy peace...of solace. In another time, he might have been angry with himself for not recognizing such peace before, but there was no room for such regrets now.   


“I’ll have you.” Sephiroth said in a voice that was just above a whisper. “All of you.”   


There was an issue of breath before warm lips pressed against his shoulder, Genesis’ hands leaving his hair to traverse the expanse of his back in broad caresses only to settle over his hips, drawing him near; lean thighs flexed between them and underneath, and Sephiroth had to spread his legs as the redhead pulled him inexorably closer and onto his lap. The way those fingertips brushed against his skin, barely touching as they drew mindless affectionate patterns against his back, the kisses that bloomed and faded against his shoulders and chest were all accompanied by an air of reverence, of adoration and love. One of his lover’s hands moved away...the acoustic of fingers fumbling with something...the distraction of burning lips making their slow but sure trek up his neck… Genesis gazed up at him as their faces were shrouded in a waterfall of silver when their eyes met…the look in those beautiful azure irises enough to take his breath away.   


“Beautiful.” The older man whispered quietly, and the simple utterance was akin to words of veneration, exaltation offered to some deity. And Sephiroth really wasn’t one… The realization that he was just content to being a man-despite all their differences and unorthodox origins compared to other people-probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. However, he didn’t have much time to follow that vein of thought as a cool slick hand settled against his backside, digits kneading musculature but not lingering there. Leisurely, an equally slippery finger trailed down the crevice only to start a half-soothing, half-arousing circular motion around that hidden ruche beneath. The silver-haired former General had to brace himself on broad shoulders as his body auscultated against his partner’s, trying to give him better access while it seemed like his brain simply couldn’t make up its mind; because he wanted to press against those digits and to slightly shy away from their cool at the same time.   


It took them a little bit to work back up to where they had been. The differing nuances of emotion contrasted sharply with what the mood might have ideally looked like had they discussed things beforehand. A flood of heedful touches was their litany; brought forth on a tide that was one part deep affection and another caution. Genesis traced his skin with the air of someone committing to memory the feel of luxurious fabric...fingers light at first, then grasping and covetous. They kissed languidly; filling the silence with the barely-audible assonance of acquisitive contact. The silver-haired man huffed quietly...out through his mouth as his scarlet-haired companion tilted his head to kiss feather-light along the underside of his jaw before sucking lightly, then harder. Like in the forest, the older man seemed to take a distinct amount of pleasure and fascination in watching his reactions. Blue irises were like brands of fire across his skin as those circling fingers pressed inwards somewhat before retreating...over and over again until Sephiroth was shivering in his fight to keep from pushing into it.   


Genesis went slow.

Which was a very polite way of saying that Genesis decided that it was high time he got a taste of what it was like to be sexually dismantled. The former Commander was languid with his progress, almost nonchalant. And he’d been right to assume that something was wrong before, because while it was a gradual thing, there was nothing hesitant about it. Every touch was precise...every forward motion exquisitely deliberate and when the first finger finally breached him there was none of the burning sensation that he felt initially. Patient, gentle, and eloquent...cool but somehow  _ hot  _ and Sephiroth groaned, dropped his head slightly and worked himself back into it until he realized what he was doing and forced himself to stay still. Silver hair fell in spidery strands over epidermis, some stuck to perspiration while others swung loose to brush against his partner’s back.  A deliberately deep thrust and his mouth hung open as he surged forward against the body before him...felt his erection brush against hard abdominal muscles and he didn’t know which sensation to chase.   


Sephiroth let his hand snake backward to press against the redhead’s spine. Genesis said something again but he couldn’t concentrate on it...could barely focus on breathing as his chin was urged upwards...as he was drawn into a heady kiss that distracted him from the fact that another finger was rubbing up alongside the one already inside of him. And again it was gradual; a litany of revenant focus...a back and forth motion that occasionally became circumventive and circular. A pause and the redhead shifted somewhat to better settle them; caught the former General’s lower lip between his teeth and nipped. Sephiroth shivered and within that response-as he lost himself in the hot, low throb that soared up his spine-the second finger breached him. There was something in him that whispered that this should hurt, that he’d been  _ expecting  _ it to hurt. At the same time he acknowledged that the preparation involved in this was far more lengthy than anything he’d ever done with the older man. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he  _ himself  _ had never been properly careful with his lover.    


He couldn’t think on this long, however, because the digits within him paused and then flexed downwards...towards his groin and into his prostate. Heat suffused his cheeks, left his physicality burning as an involuntarily, wholly desperate noise erupted from the back of his throat. Ragged, rough yet somewhat lilting and his hips sought the sensation again. He felt rather than saw his partner smile against his mouth, and he felt a little bit indignant that the redhead should get to be so smug about something that felt so good it was almost frightening. Another pass and the tremor that ran up his physicality was mixed with a cold-hot sensation that was entirely foreign...his skin erupted in goosebumps and his lover hearkened to the reaction immediately, ran his free hand over his flesh like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.   


“Genes-!” he wasn’t able to finish his sentence, wasn’t able to really concentrate on anything at all.   


“Shh…” was the soothing, affectionate rush of breath against the hollow under his ear before burning lips latched onto his skin, kissing slowly, the hint of an equally hot tongue laving the spot Genesis had chosen while those fingers brushed that bundle of nerves inside him, over and over…   


Sephiroth was helpless but to undulate with the ebb and tide of those dexterous digits as the former Commander was unraveling him from the inside out yet again. The silver-haired ex-SOLDIER’s back bowed as he pressed his lips against the slightly damp skin of his lover’s temple, a tremulous exhalation quivering past his lips only to be muffled by smooth epidermis. Slowly, those fingers retreated, and their languid egress left him wanting, his breath leaving him in a moan that rolled up into a whine, and the younger man jerked his hips forward mindlessly, chasing the friction of his cock rubbing against his companion’s abdomen. Again, he felt rather than saw the redhead smile, before the evidence was presented to him in the luxurious curve of kiss-swollen lips against his jaw…as they made a trail of gentle nips to his chin and further up to ensnare him in a deep, passionate kiss that was almost enough for him to ignore the ingress of those cool digits against his entrance...three of them now, and it wasn’t really that much of a stretch...it wasn’t painful at all. Back and forth...the movements of those fingers inside him, the dance of their tongues, intertwined betwixt their open-mouthed kiss, reminiscent of what Genesis had done in the woods… Precum slid down his cock from where it was currently brushing against the redhead’s smooth skin, and his lover moaned-loudly and wanton- as he arched his back, jerked upwards somewhat against him. Involuntarily, his long digits thrust deep as he did so, and Sephiroth was having a hard time not to surge up to meet him.   


“ _ Gen-! _ ”   


Auburn locks tickled his skin, stuck to his shoulder as the former Commander leant his forehead against it; the exhalations passing through the redhead’s lips cooling his precipitated epidermis. His lover’s currently unoccupied hand fumbled with the lube again before returning between them-slick and cool-to curl around his cock while the fingers retreated from his back. Sephiroth nearly hissed through his teeth, bucking up against the cool surrounding his heated flesh as the hot ‘n cold sensation short-circuited anything that could have possibly survived the molten pool pleasure had made out of his mind. Mumbling something unintelligible half in warning had the older man chuckling before the hand around his arousal fell away to stroke Genesis’ own erection, which was gorgeously and-possibly-achingly hard between them. More lube, and the redhead’s breaths were coming out ragged, azure eyes fluttering closed and a magnificent throat bared for him to feast on as his lover got distracted with pleasuring and preparing himself.

Sephiroth very nearly exploded.   


With exasperation, however, not pleasure. Because they had  _ not  _ gotten this far just so the redhead could jerk himself off. The former General made a noise of imperious and deeply disapproving magnitude. Almost reluctantly, heavy lids lifted to reveal desirous pools of sapphire. A dark red brow was arched in an expression that was not entirely innocent and the younger man fought the urge to pull his hair. Looping an arm around his partner’s neck, he let the other snake down...fingers fanning out to bat the offending hand away as he canted his hips. Tilting his head, he felt rather than saw the blue-eyed ex-First shudder...felt him shift again to remedy the slightly precarious balance of their bodies. The head of Genesis’ cock slid forwards...across his perineum to nudge between his ass cheeks and the silver-haired man exhaled in a rush. There was a sort of desperate fumbling as they both attempted to finagle some sort of angle that would work for both of them. And-really-it was his companion doing all the work; because the first time he tried to aim and missed his hand got slapped impatiently out of the way. A little bit indignant, the younger man concentrated on the feeling of his erection pressed against well-defined stomach muscles and let his partner do the work he was so clearly desperate to do himself. Which-in retrospect-was probably not entirely helpful because perhaps a second later he was tumbling backwards onto the floor.   


Genesis followed, though it seemed to be more out of surprise than anything. The redhead managed to catch himself as he yelped and pushed up on his hands...hovering over him as they stared at each other...breathing heavily. Sephiroth tried and failed to look impassive about it and the chuckle that burst from his partner’s lips was laced with ragged ardor. The former General’s pique disappeared when a ravenous mouth sealed itself with his, tongue plunging forward as he draped himself over him...as the silver-haired man’s legs came up automatically and it was more of a writhe than anything. Hands grasping here and there, digging into thighs...threading through hair as it became a mindless thing. Erections grinding together as moans fell from their mouths only to get snatched away by hard, greedy kisses that seemed never-ending. His hair was everywhere...tangled between them; fanned out over the rug and draped over his arms. When the scarlet-haired ex-First drew away he was feeling a little bit unhinged by the tempest of it...like his body wasn’t entirely his own anymore and he didn’t know what to do about it. Swallowing, Sephiroth tried to catch his breath before he opened his mouth.

“...Maybe we should move to the couch?”   


The smile he was presented with was as breathtaking in its brightness as it was infuriating. Genesis ducked his head to glance down between them only to look up at him soon after. “I’d carry you there if I could.” The somewhat smug wink he was given was betrayed by the deep roseate blush creeping up on high cheekbones as his partner uttered breathlessly. Pulling back, a hand was proffered to him which Sephiroth mindlessly took. “I’m awfully out of shape.”The slight hint of a grimace, and the silver-haired man didn’t let the expression emerge fully as he caught the lush lips of his companion between his own, their liplock not breaking as they rose to their feet in unison. Long ivory digits didn’t seem to be able to leave his physicality as though his body was an instrument; as though if the man currently sucking on his lower lip-like it was an ambrosia he couldn’t get enough of-stopped touching him, the music of their coupling would somehow fade.

Stumbling backwards and hitting his shin against the metal of the coffee table, the green-eyed individual winced slightly whilst his lover chuckled, even laughed a little as they circumvented the unseen obstacle. And soon, Sephiroth was falling onto his back yet again, onto the cool fabric of the couch, with Genesis in hot pursuit. Leaning on splayed hands, his partner hovered above him with intense blue eyes gazing at him, fingertips brushing away his hair with a touch so light it felt like the older man thought he was the finest of porcelains; so slow it was as though they had all the time in the world...and maybe they had. Affection was swirling in cerulean depths as the redhead lowered his head to place a loving kiss against his forehead, whispering in a low voice as he drew back.   


“ _ I adore you. _ ” The way the scarlet-haired individual uttered it now-after all that had passed between them, after all they’d been through-Sephiroth could briefly acknowledge that all those other times in their distant past that his lover had whispered these exact three words, he’d meant he loved him...in a way that transcended the notion, in a way that outclassed words.

As though reading the realization probably fleeting over his features, blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly and just before the former General could open his mouth, a finger was gently pressed against his lips.

“Don’t say it.” Almost inaudible, gentle like the softest of breezes his lover whispered.

For once, the silver-haired man didn’t argue with his partner. Lifting his hands, he cupped smooth cheeks as he gazed into cerulean irises, tilting his head to receive his mouth again...lips trembling somewhat as long fingers grasped the underside of his thigh, pressed suggestively until he drew his knee up somewhat. There was a sense of vibrating anticipation as the redhead settled slightly, nestled himself into the cradle of his hips while still keeping some of his weight balanced on one arm. Genesis’ lips left his to press a firm kiss to the underside of his jaw before he lowered his head to nuzzle just underneath his ear; breath hot over his skin as Sephiroth let a palm slide down to card through scarlet locks. He then allowed it further descent, slid it between them until he could get a good grasp on the older man’s arousal, feeling the slick heft of it in his palm as he angled his hips to better accommodate the position. Letting the digits grasping crimson strands tighten somewhat, he drew the former Commander back up until they were face to face...drinking in the sight of widened, aroused pupils as he positioned himself. It was a little bit awkward, and it was easy to get distracted; what with the way that his companion seemed rather keen on taking him apart before the goal of their actions could culminate into something solid. The head of the redhead’s cock kept slipping away and he wondered if everything was always so difficult for Genesis so long ago...when their positions had been switched.   


By the time his partner decided to help him he was flushing furiously; from a kind of desperate arousal and the slightest hint of annoyance. Levering himself up again, the older man gently pushed his hand away...eyes glittering with amusement and adoration wrapped up in one extremely gorgeous package and he had to bite his lip to keep from saying something about it. He was slow about it, of course. There was the sensation of gradual ingress, of the press of something significantly larger than fingers against his ass and it felt like the air was getting pushed out of his lungs with each forward increment. Sephiroth forced himself to breathe through the stretch, watched as Genesis let go and slowly sat back on his heels, cheeks dusted with roseate as sapphire eyes watched him-half-lidded-that cerise mouth parting somewhat. The silver-haired man let his other leg rise as he did so, shivered as a trembling hand reached for his erection and began a slow, steady series of strokes that reverted his attention. Involuntarily he undulated into it, felt his breath catch in his throat as the press of a pelvis became apparent. His partner’s back arched forward slightly as he hunched against the instinctive drive to immediately seek more, as the long fingers of his free hand splayed flat against the silver-haired man’s chest before sliding down in a reflexive motion.   


...And then they were still.   


There was a quiet to it...such inaction. An almost static, fuzzy quality to the placidity of the moment. It seemed to waver over his skin...hot and cold and deep until it felt like it was spilling over into the air. Sephiroth could hear the soft rasp of Genesis’ fingertips on his knees; was hyper aware of the somnolent slide of articulate digits as they stroked upward. He was equally cognizant of the feeling of fullness, of the firm-velvet impression of his lover’s arousal. Hot...buried... _ vital  _ and the awareness of aching breadth gave way to a kind of eager fulfillment. The former General shifted experimentally and his companion hissed somewhat, as if overstimulated. That head of red hair lolled slightly to one side as the older man made as if to thrust sharply before reigning himself in once again. And it was a testament not only to his level of self-control, but the amount of care he was putting into his actions. A warm, affectionate feeling bloomed in his chest and Sephiroth reached forward to thread his fingers through the hand on his knee even as he flexed his hips and tipped his head back.

“Move.” He said quietly.    


The hand currently intertwined with his reached forward slowly, knuckles brushing gently against the side of his face before leaving to take something-a cushion-before his partner muttered an equally quiet utterance. “Raise your hips a little.” Doing as he was bid, the fluffy pillow was pushed between the small of his back, and Sephiroth moved his hips a little to settle down, only to see the hint of pearl white teeth biting on a plush lower lip, his lover straining atop him not to thrust. The position was definitely easier now, less awkward, and although he was sure they both could’ve managed it the way they had been, it was further testament to how much Genesis wanted it to be pleasurable for him.

Finally settled between his legs, and when they both had stopped shifting, the redhead’s spit-slicked fingers curled around his semi-hard erection, began stroking firm but languorously until finally, there was the slow but sure withdrawal of his lover’s cock; outward and out ‘til there was again the stretched feeling of the bulbous head. Sephiroth’s breath quivered past the slightly lax part of his lips, a trembling exhalation that garnered him a smile from the older man’s sanguine mouth. Genesis was flushed, gorgeous, as he did the same thing over and over again until they were both losing their heads; his lover more so than he as the scarlet-haired ex-First ducked his head, back bowed, and the puffs of breaths that issued between them were cool against the slight dampness breaking over his epidermis.   


Stilling once more; unable to stop himself, Sephiroth’s fingers threaded themselves in the unruly red tresses, brushing them upwards and away from his lover’s forehead, and then further down to gently nudge a proud chin so Genesis would raise his head, and he did. Blue eyes with pupils blown wide with pleasure and arousal bored into his, a corner of those cerise lips quirking slightly upwards in a smile-smirk, and the former General tangled his digits in the long locks at the back of his partner’s head, more assertively than before as he repeated quietly. “Move.”

This got him a short playful laugh, the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER uttering a “Your wish is my command.” With a wry smile, the redhead pushed all the way in, bracing himself on his two arms now as he repositioned himself, drew back almost all the way only to slide home. Again and again, their rhythm picked up speed, and the soft muted smack and slide of skin and sinew against musculature and epidermis turned into sharp almost resounding slaps in the quiet of their cottage that wasn’t all that noiseless anymore; Genesis’ ragged breaths and the occasional breathless vocalizations of his name every time the redhead slowed down to descend from his euphoric high filled the room around them. And every time, Sephiroth was helpless to watch that beautiful lithe body arch against him as his lover lost his head over him again and again and again.   


That was until burning blue eyes locked with his, the older man resuming his languid gradual egress when Genesis snapped his hips forward, hit his prostate before burying himself inside him.

_ Oh. _

Sephiroth’s body jerked with the sensation; fingers digging into his partner’s flesh as his legs tightened in a near vice-like grip as electricity surged up his spine. He heard himself groan, felt his erection fill until it was nearly painful. The sound that spilled from his mouth was a slurred thing, almost delirious in its satiety. In terms of sensation, it wasn’t unlike a tropical wave that began in the localized area and then spread outwards; pins-and-needles-esque...temperate and quivering. His toes twitched involuntarily even as his physicality seemed to coil in upon itself. Silver hair spilled over an outstretched arm as he twined his fingers through those of his companion and brought it backwards...just next to his head so he could press his forehead against the exterior of a pale wrist. His partner stilled for a moment...almost as if drinking in the proclivity of his response and then drove forth again and this time he couldn’t suppress the the ragged somewhat lilting vociferation that worked its way over his tongue. Genesis seemed to hearken to it and the kiss that was fed into his mouth was a thing of deep reciprocation; all tongue and shivering lips and the ghost of a smile that was quickly overtaken by a heavy exhalation of breath. Another thrust and the silver-haired man felt his brows draw together, his eyes open wide in an expression of near-perplexity; the only thing escaping from him this time a ragged huff of air.   


He sought it then, that glorious cumulation of sensation. Bringing their joined hands to his mouth he let his lips travel mindlessly over their clasped knuckles, rocking his hips until the older man picked up a steady rhythm that catered to the angle. Fervor rose and fell within him; became a slow swirl of headiness until it transformed into a back and forth vacillation that seemed to grow stronger with every surge inwards. Sephiroth felt somewhat witless with the shattering schism of it; felt like his head was descending into a nebula of space that was starry and breathtaking and yet at the same time incredibly anencephalic. He was-at once-mindful of why Genesis seemed to utterly lose the entirety of his composure during acts like this. The clarity of it brought forth a kind of delirious rancor at its heels because if he’d known that he was going to enjoy it  _ this  _ much he would have pushed for it sooner. Some of his bewildered indignation must have shown on his face because the former Commander chuckled breathlessly, broke free of his fingers and ran a covetous hand through his hair before pushing his legs back, angling them further and driving forward  _ hard.  _ The younger man gasped; eyes dropping to half-mast as the sclera became somewhat humid. His fingers clutched desperately at whatever they could reach-which happened to be the blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER’s shoulder-and he let the tips dig deep as he pressed his head back into the pillows mindlessly.

_ “Gen..!” _

The moan bubbling up his lover’s throat was muffled when pearl-white teeth bit hard on a plump lower lip, Genesis’ grip on his thighs tightened as he kept thrusting forward, only to slow down suddenly, a head of fiery tresses ducking.

“ _ Seph… _ ” was a supplicative whisper, the melodious voice shaking somewhat with the same strain his partner’s physicality seemed to vibrate against him to keep from pushing forward; quickly, repeatedly in a pursuit for his release. It was endearing, and Sephiroth really didn’t know what to do with it, especially when that perfect mouth was enveloping the digits that had been previously digging in the smooth epidermis, laving at his fingers and sucking on them in a desperate yet seductive manner; what with how those blue eyes fluttered close only to gaze heatedly at him from underneath bows of auburn lashes, the salacious part of those luxurious lips, the hot exhalations cooling his saliva-slicked skin as the redhead breathed through his nose and gasped against his fingertips.

And the former General wanted to kiss those lips, and he did, deep, bruising and passionate enough to make his toes curl yet again. It wasn’t really important whose groan it was that got lost in between their tongues twining round each other; and it was sloppy and heady, and the way Genesis moaned, long, low and wanton against his mouth was almost enough for him to get up from under him and fuck him senseless into the couch. But then again the older man started moving above him, breaking and not breaking their lip lock at the same time as he guided Sephiroth’s hand to his own straining cock between their bodies, and  _ touch _ … It was almost too much, especially with his lover hitting his prostate over and over again. “ _ Don’t stop… _ ” The scarlet-haired ex-First pleaded, ducking his head to look down at the cradle of his hips.   


Another moan, and the younger ex-SOLDIER found himself ensnared in yet another fierce mind-shattering kiss, his partner drawing back for the width of a breath to press their foreheads together for an infinitesimal moment, only to resume where their mouth had left off only an instant ago. Their rhythm seemed to build up to a point until the redhead seemed to reign himself in, slowed down and began anew. Pulling back, yet again, the constant ingress and egress of his lover’s cock almost came to a halt, and Genesis drew back slightly. Azure eyes gazed inside his...hazed over with pleasure and filled with so much fire, the same blaze that was consuming them both. “ _ Seph… _ ” A breathless pause. “ _ I… _ ” The former Commander trailed off, ducking his head as his hips almost jerked forward before he seemed to stop himself yet again. “ _ I’m gonna-...” _

It was Sephiroth’s turn to shush him.

“So come.” He muttered against flushed dermis.

Arching, he felt his own orgasm build...felt it rise up to grip him by the throat as his physicality seemed to bend, to curl and and then spiral outwards from the base of his spine. Gripping lithe hips, the green-eyed ex-SOLDIER nearly trembled with the force of the mere threat of it...felt it rise thick and heavy in his mouth as a wholly uncharacteristic moan fell from it. Genesis responded with something breathy and wholly desperate, seemed to fall into the tenuous melody of it before drawing back. This time when he surged forward he didn’t stop; the redhead took up a hard, purposeful series of thrusts that had the silver-haired man rising upward to meet him; eyes closing as his breath came fast and hard before it nearly ceased entirely. His partner’s fingers tangled in his hair in a gesture that might have been rough in an otherwise different situation. As it was, he welcomed it...felt his breath hiss through his teeth in a too-good manner as his body jerked wantonly. The scarlet-haired man murmured something garbled and wholly incoherent against his ear, tongue flickering out to curve against the inner shell and white washed over his vision.

Sephiroth came and it felt like he was somehow exploding and imploding all at once. The force of it rolled up his spine like the approach of a thunderhead before searing back downwards. Too hot, too close,  _ so good  _ and his back bowed as his mouth fell open in a soundless exclamation. He was aware-dimly-that his former comrade had to chase the thrash of his body somewhat; that his rhythm faltered before he regained it again. Someone cursed-probably Genesis-but he couldn’t concentrate through the litany of throbbing fire that exuded from the core of his being. There was the slide of his seed between them; the evidence of his release painting his belly as he tried to breathe through it somewhat-didn’t seem to be able to-and it was a little bit  _ frightening- _ the intensity of it-but the presence of the man above him kept him somewhat grounded; tethered him to reality just as his heart was eternally tethered to the brilliant, beautiful individual apparently losing his mind before him. And Sephiroth knew he wasn’t the first person that the older man had had the opportunity to do this to, but the melodic, somewhat surprised exclamation of pleasure that left his lover’s lips as he stiffened carried with it the feeling of profound singularly. Because Genesis’ vocalization indicated that he was equally delirious in the throes of it as he was. So when the sapphire-eyed man came he pulled him downwards...crushed their bodies together as the redhead surged against him...open-mouthed and shivering.

“ _Genesis…_ ” Breathless, whispered and utterly adulative, he spoke the older man’s name reverently. “I love you.”   


A sound resembling a moan rose up his lover’s throat, got strangled as the tense physicality in his arms seemed to relax and sag while the redhead slowly but surely came down from his high. Genesis seemed to have trouble coordinating his mind and his body, as he appeared to want to draw out and away, but groaned and settled against him once again, smearing the already coagulating fluid between their abdomens and chests. Sephiroth wanted to smack him lightly on the arm in the same fashion that the older man used to do sometimes but the lazily affectionate smile that lit up his companion’s softened blue irises gave him pause. Seemingly making up his mind, his former comrade drew out and away, wincing slightly before rising up to his knees and bending over the back of the couch to reach to the cabinets-or rather the the empty space between them-for a box of tissues. The green-eyed ex-First took the cushion out from under his back as the redhead made an even worse of a mess before wiping them clean and leaving the ball of crumpled tissues on the floor beside the box he’d so nonchalantly discarded.   


Just as he’d been about to rise himself on his elbows, an auburn head nestled against his chest, the warm weight of his lover’s body pushing him down into the soft cushions of the couch, and when Genesis  _ ‘hmm’ _ ed rather contently, and possibly exaggeratedly, Sephiroth couldn’t simply bring himself to move, and why not; both of them could use a short nap. And thus, he laid back, reached for another fluffy pillow to support his head as long articulate fingers splayed against his chest before moving to mindlessly caress along the side of his arm in lax soothing to and fro motions.   


“ _ There is no hate, only joy… _ ” And as his eyelids grew heavy, his left arm coming to drape somewhat possessively around a lean waist, the former General could almost hear the smile in that melodious voice as Genesis continued quietly. “ _ For you are my _ Ashayam…”


End file.
